Oneiros (ENG)
by Morrodes
Summary: About two years have passed since Meg, Sally and their friends have escaped the vicious claws of the Entity. Having to live with terrible memories, they try to find a way back into a normal and peaceful life. Yet once again they are put to the test, when a dark and sinister nightmare escapes his cruel prison. [sequel to Aurora, crossover with Life is Strange and Rainbow Six Siege]
1. The Forest Spirit

_DISCLAIMER: Translation on Oneiros has stopped and I don't know if or when I will continue. Reason for this are other projects taking priority. If anyone wants to take over, feel free to ask._

_Welcome to the English translation of Oneiros. Have fun reading and please keep in mind that English is not my native language. If you have a minute, please leave a comment and tell me what did or did not like about the chapters._

_beta reader: shadowwing135_

**The Forest Spirit**

"What a show," Feng shouted enthusiastically and turned to Sally. "How did you like it?"

"Well, it surely was as loud as promised," the Nurse replied, rubbing her ears. "But I´ve rarely had so much fun. Really... impressive."

"Have you seen the drum solo?" Meg wanted to know. "Did you see how fast he was?"

"We were there," Nea replied and laughed. "Your faces were worth gold when they hammered out the first song. You've really never been to a concert like this before."

"I always thought it sounded just like on the CDs", Meg said. "But the show they're putting on... that´s truly something else."

Nea nodded and exchanged a look with David, who grumbled in agreement. Then she looked around for Claudette and Dwight. The two had fallen back a little and were still at the exit, trapped between a bunch of laughing fans and two security guards.

"Hey, you two lovebirds, hurry up a bit," the Swedish called out, before turning to her group again. "Well, I'm certainly not the only one starving here, am I? I´m gonna get some food. Someone coming with?"

Everyone except Sally nodded and immediately made their way towards a nearby fast food stand. The Nurse stayed behind and waited for Dwight and Claudette, who didn't really hurry despite Nea´s vocal request. The two had enjoyed the show in their own way, and the sight of the couple put a smile on Sally's face.

She raised her head to the stars, closed her eyes and in thoughts went through the concert she had just witnessed. First the intro, a firework of special effects, fog and lights. Then the first song. Powerful and loud. Sally had been carried away from the beginning and the cheering crowd around her had charged her with euphoria that had let her tremble.

The singer had said a few words between each song, made a wonderfully vulgar joke or just heated up the mood a bit. He had proceeded with a nonchalance that was only possible with many years of experience and professionalism. The guitarists had also played their part in the performance and had stormed back and forth on stage. But most of all Sally had been fascinated by the drummer.

Like a king he had sat behind his drums and cymbals, placed on a high platform. His arms had moved with a power and speed that Sally could hardly explain, and every stroke had been perfect.

Back then, in the fog, she had not believed she would ever get back into the real world. When that happened, she had not believed that she would ever be able to be among people again. But the survivors had taken her in, like one of their own. Despite the bitter past that bound them together.

Somewhere in the distance some fans broke out in unrestrained cheers and Sally opened her eyes again. She looked around curiously. Dwight and Claudette were about to fight their way out of the entrance area, while a small crowd was forming a few meters away. Apparently, something exciting had happened, but Sally preferred to keep her distance.

Of course, she was curious, but even after two years the customs and habits of a society she hardly knew remained intimidating to her. Silently she followed the events and a moment later she spotted the striking hairstyle of the singer, who had just left the stage. It looked like a surprise meeting between band and fans was taking place over there.

Sally turned her head and looked around for Nea. Should she tell the Swede? Sally knew, that she was a fervent admirer of the group and had already tried to get an autograph at several concerts, but so far, she had not succeeded. Now there was another opportunity. Sadly, Sally could not spot her anywhere

Uncertain if she should go after Nea and risk getting lost in the crowd, she took a step backward and collided with someone rushing behind her. Sally was pushed forward and would have fallen to the ground had, if not for the strong arm, that wrapped itself around her waist.

In shock, Sally quickly writhed herself out of the unknown persons grip. Her body was ice-cold and only half as heavy as that of a normal woman. No one could discover her. Sally drove around, instinctively ready to defend herself.

"Oh, excuse me, I'm terribly sorry." A young man in a black tank top and with sweaty hair raised his hands in defence. Speaking with a strong Scandinavian accent, he continued. "I didn't see you there. Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes... I´m alright", Sally muttered and shot a quick glance over at Dwight and Claudette. Strangely enough, she felt uncomfortable alone in the company of a complete strange stranger. But when she looked back at the young man something struck with her.

"Hey, didn´t I just see you on the stage?"

"Yep, behind the drums", the guy replied. "To be honest, I had hoped to sneak past the fans today. I'd rather leave the signing to Joakim."

Sally didn't answer, and the musician explained, "Our singer."

"Oh," Sally nodded, "Well, I have to admit, this is actually my first time listening to you."

"There's nothing wrong with that," the man replied cheerfully, and Sally added. "It was even the first rock concert of my life."

"Oh, then we had a special honour. I hope we gave you a worthy initiation. Did you like it?"

Sally nodded.

"You played beautifully. Honestly, I've never experienced so much energy in a piece of music."

"A beautiful way to say it", the drummer laughed before pulling two sticks out of his back pocket. He quickly signed them with a big, black pen and pressed them into Sally´s hands. "Here. A welcome gift for our newest fan."

"Thank you", the Nurse muttered, and the musician shook her hand. "You're welcome. But I better be on my way now or else I´ll blow my cover. See you next time."

With these words, he turned around and disappeared into the crowd, while Sally remained somewhat stunned. She felt the weight of the sticks in her hands just as Claudette appeared next to her and moaned, "So, here we are. Finally. We had a little traffic jam back there."

"Hm... What?"

"I said we had a traffic jam", Claudette repeated, looking around. "Where'd the others go?"

"They went to get something to eat," Sally replied. "But they should be back any minute."

"Damn, I wouldn´t say no to a bite too," Dwight muttered, "Are they getting something for me as well?"

"I don't think so," Sally said, and Dwight growled something incomprehensible.

"What's going on over there?" Claudette asked and pointed toward the crowd. Sally turned around and answered, "I think some of the musicians are signing autographs."

"Really? But one´s missing, or did I just overlook him?"

"The drummer," Sally murmured, right when David arrived, his arms full of fast food bags and beer cans.

"Now don´t tell me you´re eating that all by yourself." Dwight let his gaze slide over the food, amazed at the sheer quantity David had brought. "That's at least four portions."

"The girls discovered the band," David grumbled. "From that point on food was secondary. Shit, can you take some of these bags?"

Claudette and Dwight rushed over immediately and relieved David from some of his burdens. Looking over his shoulder Dwight stated. "If I have to carry this, it's gonna cost them."

Quickly he reached into one of the bags, pulled out some fries and put them into his mouth. Claudette watched him with a grin, before following his example. The food was so abundant anyway that Meg or Feng would hardly be able to eat a whole bag alone.

Meanwhile David opened one of the cans and took a big sip of the beer inside. Sally had already noticed that the alcoholic beverage was as much a part of the event as the band itself. The smell was omnipresent.

"What do you think of New York, Sally?" Claudette suddenly ripped her out of the thoughts. She looked around for a moment and then answered. "It´s... tall?"

"You can say that again," Claudette laughed. "After all, it's one of the biggest cities in the world."

Sally nodded and looked over at a group of skyscrapers.

"Back in my days I´ve seen pictures of the city, but the buildings were much smaller. And of course, it´s something else to actually be here. And all the cars. It´s simply impressive."

"Weren´t there any cars around back then?" Dwight asked with his mouth full of fries. Sally shook her head. "Of course there were. But they were louder and slower. And the stench was almost unbearable. Today everything´s so… perfect."

"Perfect might be a little exaggerating," Claudette noted. "But over the last couple decades mankind has made some huge steps, that's true."

Dwight agreed with her and the four kept talking, until Meg, Feng and Nea joined the group again. The Swede had gotten herself a T-shirt of the band, black and with the golden logo directly on her chest.

"Successful?" Claudette asked, but Nea just shook her head. "Nope, too many people. Can't get through in an hour and we don't have that much time. Dammit!"

"At least you got yourself a shirt," Dwight said and the Swedish girls face brightened a bit. "At least a souvenir. And the logo looks awesome, doesn't it?"

"It does," Claudette confirmed, then turned to Meg, "Do you have anything?"

The athlete raised her arm and showed a black sweatband around her wrist, decorated with the golden band logo as well. Feng, on the other hand, only growled angrily.

"I hate being the smallest of us. At first I can hardly see the band and now they don´t even have any T-shirts my size."

But the next moment her anger already gave way to a smile.

"We still got our memories," Claudette said comforting. "And perhaps that´s the most beautiful souvenir there is."

"How poetic", Nea commented with a sarcastic voice, before adding slightly disappointed. "An autograph would have been something… but it doesn't matter. Hey, Sally, what have you got there?"

The Nurse lifted the two drumsticks she had completely forgotten about and everyone looked curiously at the elongated objects before Dwight asked. "Wait... Is that a signature?"

"The drummer came by here earlier, right after you left," Sally explained, "He bumped into me and we talked for a second before he gave me this."

"You have signed drumsticks from Hannes van Dahl," Nea asked, her eyes wide open, and grabbed one of the sticks as Sally held them out. Curiously, she looked at the signature and drove her finger along the shaft. "Fuck, how long has he been gone?"

"It's been a while," Sally replied. "We only spoke for a moment."

"What did he say to you?" Meg asked enthusiastically and Sally answered. "Not much. He just apologized and asked me how I liked the show."

"What was he like?"

"I don't know... friendly?"

"Damn, you´re lucky", Nea muttered, giving the stick back to Sally. "First concert ever and already a date with the drummer."

"You can keep it," Sally said, but the Swede shook her head. "No. He gave it to you. Besides I got something already."

"And…" Sally seemed hesitant. "What do I do with it now?"

Nea laughed.

"Frame them and hang them over your bed. Like a poster, only way cooler."

"Or you could buy yourself the rest of the drum kit," Claudette added with a smile.

Meg opened her eyes in panic and sat straight up. Breathing heavily, she looked around before she recognized the outlines of her room in the darkness. She was at home at Coldwind Farm.

Tired, the athlete fell back into her sheets, bathed in sweat, and tried to close her eyes. She had probably had a nightmare, which unfortunately has not been a rarity for more than two years now. The time of quiet nights was long gone and would probably stay gone forever, but there was a shimmer of hope.

While she used to wake up screaming and flailing around like a madwoman, now she rarely experienced more than a slight start. Meg knew that she had not screamed in her sleep or made any noise, because in that case Sally would have already appeared in her room. The Nurse took care of her like a mother, for which Meg was grateful. Even though she did not like to admit it, her support was much needed. Sally was someone Meg could turn and talk to. And she had an unspeakably light sleep, which usually lasted no longer than two hours per night. Paired with her improved ears, this meant that she heard almost everything in the house.

Meg smiled as her thoughts wandered to the sleeping habits of the other killers. While Sally managed with inhumanly little rest, Max and Anna did not seem to have been freed from their humane needs at all. Anna still was a night active creature and often roamed around the woods, even hours after midnight. However, she made up for it by sleeping in the following morning.

Her room resembled the cave of a predator and was decorated with numerous things she had brought back from her prowls. A colourful feather, a strangely shaped root or a glittering stone, everything even remotely beautiful or miraculous was given a place in her collection. Her bed was a heap of pillows and duvets, perfect to cuddle into at night.

Max, on the other hand, was an early riser who also went to bed early. As soon as the sun went down, he looked for something to eat and then disappeared into his room, only to reappear with the first rays of sunshine. During the first weeks he had kept running through the fields with his chainsaw at five o'clock in the morning, but luckily Sally and Meg had been able to push that habit up to half past six.

Like Annas, his room followed its own style and was reminiscent of a workshop, although a very messy one. The floor was covered with screws and metal parts, there were heaps of materials on two workbenches, and the walls were covered with nails, with various tools attached to them.

Sally had tried more than once to get him to clean up, but it was a hopeless endeavour. In the end, the Nurse had given up with the statement that it made little to no difference anyway, as long as he felt well. His bed, in contrast to Annas, was more like the human standard, but it was just a simple mattress, without any pillows or blankets. Max simply threw himself on the soft surface and immediately fell into a deep sleep, never failing to snore.

Meg leaned to the side and put an ear to the wall. Quietly she could hear the regular sawing, even though Annas room was between that of the Hillbilly and her own. Fortunately, the Huntress did not seem to mind at all.

Yawning, Meg lay back again and tried to find back into sleep. She had her only window, which was facing east over the fields, wide open and the nightly chirping of grasshoppers entered her room. Lost in thought, the athlete remembered learning at school that the sounds were signals of readiness to mate. Judging by the sheer number of chirps, there had to be a real orgy out there. Or just some really lonely guys.

A light smile drove over her lips as her thoughts wandered to Dwight and Claudette, who had looked so happy last week in New York. Sally, Anna or Max were by no means unpleasant contemporaries - quite the opposite - but for almost a year now Meg had been the only normal person living on Coldwind Farm. Once a week she went to the nearby town, but the inhabitants met her with reservations. They distrusted the farm and all its inhabitants.

When Meg had agreed to move to the farm with the strange creatures that were Sally, Max and Anna, she had known it would be a lonely affair. She had hoped that the withdrawn life would soothe her panic attacks and that the constant presence of the killers would treat her fears and traumas. And she had been right. It had worked so well that her memories of the fog had atrophied into lurking shadows that occasionally reached for her thoughts but were not able to grasp her anymore.

Life on the farm was nice. It was pleasantly quiet and strangely Meg felt a deep satisfaction when she thought of the house and the fields that now belonged to her. Nevertheless, she longed for other company. Someone who had not tried to kill and torture her at some point in the past.

The trip to New York had been a lot of fun. It had been such a pleasure to mingle with a crowd in in which she was not looked at with suspicion and in which no one knew who she was or where she lived. The countryside had its advantages, the city had others and Meg loved the abundance of people and faces the latter had to offer.

Her fingers moved slowly, almost involuntarily under the blanket and into her pyjama pants. It took a while before her body tightened briefly and she pulled her hand back out again with a sigh. Moist fingers glittered in the moonlight and Meg noticed that she really was damn lonely.

For a moment she wondered if she was longing for a partner, but then she got rid of the thought with an inner shake of her head. Slightly ashamed, she remembered the two idiots with whom she had had something one could call a relationship back in high school.

She had sacrificed her virginity to one of them after she had drunk way too much at a sports party. It had happened within half a minute on a dirty toilet cabin and weeks later she had still wanted to sink into the ground just at the thought of it.

For this reason, she had decided not to rush anything with the second one, and probably exaggerated it to such an extent that at some point the guy had gotten himself a side chick. From that point on, the subject had been over for Meg until the seemingly overjoyed sight of Claudette and Dwight had started to cause small cracks in her determination.

Close your eyes, Meg, and go to sleep, she admonished herself. Forget these fantasies, tomorrow everything will be different.

They were spick and span, white and immaculate, just as Dwight liked it. Satisfied, he closed his mouth and put the dental floss aside. Dwight had just spent a quarter of an hour picking out the last remains of food from between his teeth and the spinach Claudette had put in front of him today had been a tough opponent. But in the end, Dwight had emerged victorious. In addition, the meal had been delicious, a quality that could by no means be attributed to every dish of the Canadian.

Dwight nodded to his mirror image, turned around and left the small bathroom. Despite officially still living with his parents, he was spending more than half of his nights at Claudette's tiny apartment in the city, so he wasn't quite sure which place was his real home at the moment. Of course, he didn't want to take advantage of the Canadian and many a girl would have told him to find his own apartment. But not Claudette.

Just like Dwight, she belonged to the type of person who clung to her partner like a monkey to its branch and they had already heard from several sides that a relationship could quickly break up as a result. However, the two had not noticed anything yet. Dwight liked to cling to Claudette and Claudette liked to cling to Dwight. They were happy with it.

He dropped onto the narrow bed they shared and turned his head toward his girlfriend. She was dressed in a bathrobe and wet hair fell down her back in a dark plait. After coming out of the shower, she immediately had sat down at her computer and accessed several websites, all related to the university of Waltonfield. The reason: from today on one could expect a message whether one had been admitted to a semester abroad or not.

Dwight had repeatedly explained to her that it was not only possible, but also much more likely to receive the exam results sometime over the next few weeks and that it would not make any sense, if she tied herself to the computer screen. She would know soon enough anyway. Claudette had listened to him every time and every time she had remained stubborn. The was nothing he could do.

Excited, the Canadian opened a chat window and typed in a quick message. It was a forum for all those who had applied for a semester abroad and taken the test. Just a few days ago, the focus had been on studying tips or forming learning groups, but today there was only one question: Has anyone already received a result?

"Anything new?" Dwight asked casually and grabbed one of the fat books lying on the left side of the bed.

"No," Claudette murmured without turning her head. Meanwhile Dwight opened a random page and flew over a short paragraph. It was about a... fungus? Or something like that. He barely understood half the words in front of him and with a smile on his face he put the reading aside again. It was still a mystery to him how Claudette managed to read through three of these monstrosities within a week and not only understand, but also to remember them. With his eyebrows raised, he looked over at her.

"Anyone heard anything yet?"

"No"

"Just like I said," Dwight muttered, "It´s probably still three or four days from now on. They're academics. They like to take their time."

"Hey!"

"Now don´t tell me otherwise. The one time I went to a lecture with you the professor was almost half an hour late."

"Yes, but... well, you might have a point there."

"If I even dared thinking about showing up to work half an hour late because – and I´m quoting here – my coffee was to hot and I couldn´t drink it in time, my boss would fire me in the blink of an eye and my dad probably too."

"Your boss is an asshole, though."

"But he knows punctuality."

"Better a nice guy five minutes late than an asshole right on time."

Dwight smiled, and Claudette shot an amused glance over her shoulder. Then she looked forward at the screen again and switched to Gmail. A quiet click told Dwight that she had pressed F5. Apparently, there were no new mails, because she immediately switched back to the forum, where she scrolled down and read the last messages.

"Mitchell didn't make it," she mumbled, "Poor guy."

"He's already got his score?" Dwight asked.

"Looks like it," Claudette replied, "Yeah, there's a screenshot. Damn, he really screwed up. Ten points out of forty."

"They'll probably send the first mails to people who failed miserably," Dwight remarked. "There they don't have to correct that much."

"You´re probably right," the Canadian muttered, "Sarah's out too. Nine out of forty."

"Seriously, are you even studying for your tests?"

"They're difficu... fuck."

"What's the matter?" Dwight asked and looked up worried. Claudette didn't answer. Wordlessly, she stared at her screen. With a frowned forehead Dwight swung his legs from the bed, stood up and walked over to her.

Arriving at his girlfriend, he bent down to get a better look at the screen showing Claudette's mailbox. At the top there was a new message, marked bold and unread. The sender was the "Natural Science Institute of the University of Waltonfield", the subject was stated as "foreign semester exam results".

"What are you waiting for? Open it," Dwight said and gave Claudette a friendly push. Her hand lay on the mouse, but she didn't move and a moment later she replied. "No, I can't. You do it."

"Why?"

"I'm too afraid," Claudette mumbled hysterically and stood up from her chair. She turned around and buried her face in her hands while Dwight sat down in front of the screen. Smiling, he reached for the mouse and clicked on the mail. Claudette still stood behind him, not daring to take a look at the screen.

"I failed, didn´t I?"

"I'm not that far yet", Dwight answered in a deliberately casual manner, which only heated up her nervousness even more.

"Oh my God, I failed, I´m sure," Claudette muttered. "Otherwise I wouldn't have gotten an e-mail yet. Why didn´t I spend more time learning, Dwight?"

"Try looking at it this way: if you failed, you get to stay here with me."

Claudette only growled, still refusing to turn around.

"What now?"

"Wait... Ah, here it is. Yep, failed miserably. Five out of forty points. Congratulations."

"What?"

Claudette drove around, her bathrobe flying around her body. Hurriedly she skipped the introduction and searched for the test result, which was right at the end of the mail. Her eyes wandered slowly from left to right as she silently read over the lines.

"I hate you," Claudette screamed and boxed Dwight on the arm, who did not even attempt to defend himself. Then she embraced him, pressed a quick kiss on his cheek and jumped into the air with joy.

"I'm going to Paris!"

"And you thought you failed," Dwight commented shaking his head. "Thirty-eight out of forty points. Nerd."

"Yes, yes!" Claudette shouted, "Yes, yes, yes, yes!"

"I'll miss you, you know," Dwight murmured the same moment one of the neighbours knocked on the wall. A muffled voice grumbled through the plaster. "Do you have any fucking idea what time it is? Quiet now!"

Claudette didn't pay any attention to the guy and instead sat down on Dwight's knee, who pulled an artificial pout.

"Don't be sad," she comforted him and put one hand on his shoulder while the other tried to pull up the corners of his mouth.

"But I want to be sad," Dwight replied childishly. "In two months, you´ll fly to Europe and then we´ll be separated for half a year."

"I know," Claudette whispered and gave him a long kiss. "I'll miss you too. Here..."

She kissed him again.

"And here"

She reached for his hand, pulled it under her bathrobe and put it directly above her heart. Then she kissed him for the third time, this time the longest. Dwight felt her pulse beating faster and faster and as they separated again, a razor-sharp smile shot over Claudette's lips.

"Two months is still a long time away," she said deceitfully and rose, pulling Dwight by the hand. "But I'll need it."

"To learn?" he asked sarcastically, but Claudette shook her head. Then she pushed him away from herself so that he fell backwards, tripping over and landing on the soft mattress of her bed.

Before he could orient himself, a wet bathrobe had already covered his eyes and obstructed his view. Dwight could see Claudette's shadow through the fabric as his nose filled with her unique scent and his body was pushed into bed by her weight.

"Stashing love," a voice whispered into his ear while cautious fingers were pulling at his shirt.

Sally looked to the side. She had heard footsteps upstairs that had been far too soft to belong to Max. Besides, the rascal had already stormed out to the fields half an hour ago. It must have been Meg, who apparently got up unusually early today. Normally, the athlete slept until about half past eight. Sally looked at the clock on the wall. It was just before seven.

Shrugging her shoulders, she turned back to the magazine in her right hand, while her left grabbed the handle of a steaming teacup. Attentively she read the lines that a journalist, who in her opinion was extraordinarily talented, had written about the first moon landing. Looking at the pictures of three astronauts, Sally read the names of the first men to set foot on the moon. It was amazingly interesting.

On the shelf behind her was a whole series of magazines on various topics that she had brought with her from her trip to New York. Some dealt with scientific topics, others reported on art, technology or politics. Or history, like the one she was holding in her hands right now.

Someone rumbled down the stairs and Sally knew it could not be Anna, as the Huntress´s steps were much stompier and there was no way she was already awake.

"Good morning, Meg," Sally greeted when the redhead came into the room and sat down at the table.

"Mornin", Meg mumbled, her eyes still shaded with tiredness.

"Slept well?"

"No"

Sally looked up from her magazine.

"Nightmare?

The athlete nodded and replied. "But not that bad, I think. I can't even remember anything, I just woke up and couldn't fall asleep anymore."

"Until now"?

"Yep"

"Are you sure you don´t want to lie down a little longer? You look tired."

"Can't sleep anyway," Meg mumbled, before she asked, "Do you have any of that tea left?"

Sally pointed to a rusty red teapot standing in the kitchen, whereupon the athlete rose, pulled a cup out of a drawer and filled it up with the hot drink. Then she reached for a piece of bread, got a glass of jam from a cupboard and returned to Sally. Yawning, she dropped onto her chair. Orange sunbeams broke through the window and seduced Meg's ruffled hair to a red glow.

"What are you reading?" she wanted to know while opening the jar.

"A report on the first moon landing," Sally replied.

"Apollo 11?"

"Exactly."

"We had a teacher at school who was literally obsessed with the subject," Meg muttered and stroked a thick layer of jam on her bread. "Fortunately, she asked the same questions every year, so we hardly had to learn anything."

"Too bad," Sally replied and watched Meg eat before turning back to the article. The two sat silently opposite each other, but the silence was by no means unfriendly or oppressive. It was simply a pleasant Saturday morning, and nothing more had to be said about it.

"I think I'll go into the town," Meg remarked after finishing her breakfast. A look in the refrigerator told her that they had almost used up their food.

"Don't forget the sausages Anna loves to eat," Sally reminded without looking up from her magazine. Then she added more to herself. "Damn, these letters are small."

"Do you need glasses?" Meg wanted to know, but the Nurse shook her head. "No. No, it´s fine."

"Whatever you say." The athlete shrugged her shoulders. "I'd better be on my way. Otherwise I won´t make it back for lunch."

"See you later."

Meg ran upstairs into her room, grabbed her backpack and came back down the stairs into the living room. From there she walked straight out onto the front terrace, sat down on the floor and put on her jogging shoes. For a short time, Meg remained in a seated position and let her gaze wander over the fields which, apart from the forest line in the south, seemed to extend into infinity. Warm sunbeams fell diagonally through the thicket and an abundance of insects hummed busily through the tall grass.

Nature was already awake, just like Max, who revved his chainsaw somewhere in the fields. From time to time Meg felt a shiver run down her spine when she heard the rattling sound. It was an anxiety she would probably never get rid of. But it hardly affected her in her everyday life, so she just shrugged her shoulders, stood up, adjusted her cap and finally started jogging down the path through the fields.

Weeks was a small town and just like one expected it to be in the rural USA. There were four wide main streets that stood at right angles to each other and formed an almost perfect square. A mix of traditional cottages, probably still from civil war times, and modern concrete buildings, which the municipality had built during the last economic upswing, lined the roads.

In the whole city there was only one supermarket, which could hardly cover the needs of the inhabitants. However, this was a stroke of luck for all the other shopkeepers who were still specialising in a certain trade. There was a butcher, a baker, a tailor and so on.

Meg slowed her pace as she turned from a small side street to one of the main streets. The run had made her sweat a bit, but it was a good workout to stay in shape. Moreover, it gave Meg an almost therapeutic effect if she could just focus on running, banishing all other thoughts from her head. Gasping, she tried to control her breath.

The sun was already nearing its zenith and many of the residents of Weeks were already on their feet, even on a Saturday. In the small town everyone knew everyone, so that it was immediately noticeable when someone unknown dared walking through the streets. Not that the inhabitants had never seen Meg before, but most had never exchanged a single word with her, so they kept giving her suspicious looks every time she showed up.

Fortunately, the athlete had gotten used to it and just could not be bothered by it anymore. Casually she walked down the street. Her destination was the supermarket on the southern corner, which would offer her everything she needed. Passing by, she looked at the Internet café across the street and briefly considered whether she wanted to contact anyone or look up anything.

The operator of the small, run-down business was one of the few people here who met Meg with honest friendliness, probably because he himself was not exactly one of the most popular fellows in town. He was a tall, thin, middle-aged man, always dressed in dirty T-shirts and had an amusing curly hairstyle. Glasses with a thick framed perfected the image of the classic nerd. His name was Adam and on one occasion he had told Meg that he had long since disappeared from here, were it not for his sick parents.

The athlete shrugged her shoulders when she came to the conclusion that she would not be visiting today. She had seen Claudette and the others just a week ago, so there probably was not anything new to report. With springy steps she went on and disappeared into the supermarket.

There Meg strolled through the shelves, stashing good after good in a small plastic basket, always under the suspicious eye of the fat cashier. She probably wanted to make sure Meg did not steal anything. As soon as she had everything, she went over to the fat lady who scanned the goods, quickly typed something into the cash register and handed her the bill. Meg gave her some green dollars, took the change and put everything in her backpack before she left the store.

Once again, she had not exchanged a single word with the woman and, lost in thought, she stepped out to the street. Back in the open she turned right, but immediately slowed down again and ran to the left towards the butcher's shop. She could not forget Anna's sausage.

As she strolled along, Meg glanced up and noticed that the sun was already high in the sky. She should probably hurry. Without much effort Meg accelerated her step and turned into an alley she knew was a shortcut. A dog barked at her from a backyard, but she paid no attention to it. Meg had learned a long time ago that silence was far more dangerous than noise.

The next moment she reached one of the main streets again and steered to the left. However, a few metres further she stopped already when her gaze was drawn to a glaring poster attached to a bare brick wall. With a curious look, Meg walked up to the blue placard and tried to decipher the bright yellow writing while quietly cursing the designer for his choice of colour.

"GREAT MARATHON" she recognized after a moment and pulled her eyebrows up with interest. Below there was the typical stick figure in a running posture, a symbol Meg had already seen countless times. At the bottom of the poster she spotted the organizer, which was the sports club of Burlington, the start, which was the town of Burlington and the finish, the town of Weeks.

"Sportswoman?" a voice asked, and Meg turned, hoping to have hidden her fright. Her gaze fell on a young woman, about the same age as her, with black hair and a friendly smile. She looked at Meg before she asked with a light Spanish accent. "And? You in?

The Latina pointed to the poster and Meg noticed that she was carrying a whole supply of flyers under her left arm.

"I, um..." stammered Meg, "I don't know... probably not."

"Too bad," the black-haired girl replied. "You have the figure of an athlete, if I may say so." She smiled again and stretched out her freehand.

"Hi. I'm Eleonora."

"Meg"

"Pleased to meet you," the girl said and pushed one of the flyers in Meg´s hand. "Since you still seem to be undecided, here, take one of these."

Meg took the note while a boy appeared at the end of the street, also carrying a pile of posters under his arm, and shouted, "Hey, Ellie, where are you?"

"Coming," Eleonora replied and then whispered with a cheerful giggle. "My brother´s a little impatient. It was nice meeting you, Meg. Bye."

With these words she turned around and ran down the road. Meg looked after her briefly before she lowered her eyes to the flyer, which was still resting in her hand. She wondered if she wanted to take part in the event, but then shook her head and crumpled the leaflet into a lump. It was better if no one became too aware of the lonely hermits on the Coldwind Farm. Hastily she continued her way and headed for the butcher's shop at the end of the street.

The forest was her friend. It spoke to her, whispered secrets into her ear and treated her with presents. The forest nourished her and offered her shelter. The forest belonged to her as firmly as the animals and plants belonged to it, and like everything in the forest, she also had a fixed place. She had a task, a role that she had to fulfil and without which the entire system, the entire order would be disturbed: she was the Huntress.

Anna ducked under a branch and carefully placed one foot in front of the other. Small twigs and leaves had arranged themselves into a minefield of sounds that could destroy out all he efforts with a single misstep. But Anna had already gained enough experience to be sure that she would not make such a mistake. She knew where to put her feet and she knew it because the forest ha thought her how. Anna's bare soles analysed the underground with every step, while her eyes were always on the lookout for traps and sources of noise.

At the same time, she watched the rabbit family sitting there in the clearing between the bushes and enjoying the juicy grass they were eating. Attentively they turned their long ears in all directions and sniffed for possible attackers, always on the watch, always on the lookout. Their eyes covered a wide field and yet they were completely blind to the immediate threat that stalked them. Hidden in the darkness a smile drove over Anna's lips and silently she released one of the throwing axes from her belt.

At the same moment the sound of a breaking branch crashed through the forest and the rabbits all lifted their heads. Anna's smile froze and for a second prey and Huntress remained in their respective positions before the rabbit family quickly withdrew into their den.

Disappointed, the Huntress crooked her head, stood up and hung the axe back on her belt. She would probably get nothing today, but that was not so bad. The rabbits would have to escape her again tomorrow.

Anna turned her head and looked in the direction from which the disturbing noise had come. There was only one kind of creature that stumbled so carelessly and blindly through the forest: humans. It was probably the children again. The ones she had seen so often in the woods.

Anna looked over her shoulder once more and memorized the place where the rabbit burrow was hidden, before she left without causing a single sound. Curious as she was, she wanted to take a look at the intruders and hurriedly moved along a narrow stream, climbed a hilltop and squatted between the branches of a small tree.

Her gaze wandered from left to right and got caught in a movement, far in the distance between two tree trunks. Anna immediately recognized a group of children jumping one by one over an uprooted pine tree. Again, a grin flashed on her lips. Then the Huntress moved backwards down the hill and sneaked in a wide arc to the right, always listening for the treacherous noises and voices.

"When we find her, you'll be the first one to touch her," one of the children ordered, and another one asked anxiously, "Why me?"

Both seemed to be girls.

"Because it´s your first time with us," a boy explained, and the first girl added, "You have to prove yourself."

"Otherwise you can go home right away", a fourth said and a fifth wanted to know. "Are you afraid?"

"I... No!" the second girl defended herself meekly and with a voice trembling with fear.

"Well then," the first girl said, while Anna passed behind a bush and caught a glimpse of the group. "Then there's no problem."

"But first we have to find her," one of the boys said and the anxious girl asked, "Have you found her ever before?"

"Many times," the first girl replied.

"Touched too?"

"No, she always got away."

Anna put her head to the side as she listened to the conversation and tried to remember the occasion on which she had fled from the children and not vice versa. She concluded that the cheeky girl was probably a liar. Anna did not like liars.

"But if you've never touched her before," the anxious girl continued, "Why do I have to be the first?"

Anna saw the other girl, who apparently was the leader, stop and turn around. "What now? You with us or not?"

"Yes, I am... But why do I have to..."

"Because you're the new one," the leader shouted hysterically, "My dad said right away that you niggers can't be trusted when you moved to town last month. You gotta prove yourself to us."

"We ain´t supposed to say that word," one of the boys remarked, but the leader did not let herself be rebuked and answered, "My dad says we´re living in a free country and we can say whatever we want."

Anna had meanwhile decided that she did not like the leader at all. Hidden behind a rock she contemplated what to do now. On one hand Sally and Meg had made her promise to stay hidden, but on the other she was curious about how the children would react if she showed herself. It might be funny to scare them a little.

No, she was not allowed to. She had promised Sally and promises had to be kept.

"I think I don´t wanna do this," the anxious girl said, after which the leader stopped dead in her tracks and looked at her for a moment.

"Then you can't join us. Get lost."

"But I..."

"Get lost!" the sassy girl shouted and with both hands she pushed the fearful girl away. A squeaky scream escaped her mouth, as she stumbled over a small rock and fell to the ground.

"Let's go," the leader said imperiously and left, while the other boys followed her. They all seemed to disagree with her action, but nobody dared to stand up to her. Meanwhile, the dark-skinned girl stayed on the ground and looked after the group in shock. Anna, who had watched the whole scene from her hiding place, growled quietly and wished she could remove people like the leader girl from her forest.

But she had promised Meg she would not hurt any of the kids. And promises had to be kept.

Meanwhile the girl, who had been left behind, got up and tried to brush the dirt off her clothes. Then she sniffed and raised her hand to wipe a tear from her cheek, as she looked around in apparent despair. Anna watched the girl and wondered if she needed help. But what could she do? She was not allowed to show herself.

The girl looked after her old group, she was no longer part of, and was already preparing to follow them. Then she changed her mind and wandered away in the opposite direction.

Somewhere a small animal broke through the undergrowth, which Anna knew was no danger. Nevertheless, the little girl drove around in shock and looked in the direction the sound had come from. Anna shook her head and decided to follow the poor thing until she was sure she would find her way home.

Silently she sneaked after her and carefully avoided any contact. The girl should not know she was being followed. Anna had promised. The little one described a wide arc as she hesitantly moved through the forest, repeatedly casting anxious glances in every direction. It was clear to see that she had no idea how get out of the forest

Her sharp ears told Anna that the girl was breathing faster and faster. A clear sign of growing fear. A little while later she accelerated her steps and the Huntress started to hear silent sobs. The girl was on the verge of absolute panic, crying, running through the woods in despair and looking for a way back home, while her dark braids got caught in the bushes. She stumbled several times until she finally ripped open her shirt on a branch and stopped in shock.

"Help!" she shouted into the forest.

Only the echo answered.

"Help!" she called again. "Please!"

Startled by the cries, a medium-sized bird flew up from his resting place in a tree. It was completely harmless, but the loud flapping of its wings gave the girl such a fright, that she winced and let out a squeaky scream. Fearfully she took a step back and stumbled again, this time over a root.

Once more, she fell to the ground, while Anna had made a decision. Deliberately careless, the Huntress stepped out of her hiding place and stopped several metres away. Nevertheless, it took the little girl a while to discover her.

Trembling, she froze in her attempt to get up and just stared at Anna, fear filling her eyes. The Huntress had decided not to approach her immediately so as not to scare her any more. She had to be careful, the girl should not try to run away from her. Therefor Anna just stood there, with her head tilted a little to the side and a friendly smile on her lips.

However, the little girl remained paralysed by fear, so after a while Anna squatted down, reducing her height. She knew it could seem threatening, especially to someone as small and vulnerable like this girl. She put her axe on the forest floor and raised her hand into a soothing wave. That seemed to give the girl some security, because she finally escaped the shock stiffness and managed to stand up completely, her weeping eyes still fixated on the Huntress.

"Do... do you want to hurt me?"

Anna shook her head violently. She did not want that at all.

"Can you... can you help me?" the girl asked and sniffed hard.

Anna nodded. The little one´s face brightened immediately, and hopeful smile conquered her lips. Relieved, Anna stretched out her hand to the girl, who now hesitantly approached her. After a moment, the girl's soft fingers touched the Huntress´s rough paw and she made big eyes.

"Whoa, you're not even made out of air."

Anna shook her head and asked, "What's your name?"

Apparently surprised that she could speak, the girl took step back again and stammered. "Ma... Marie"

"I Anna," the Huntress replied and stood up, which seemed to scare the little one again, because she took another step back. With a friendly smile Anna looked down at her and asked. "You lost?"

The girl nodded anxiously.

"Come, I'll show way out," Anna said, went over to her and effortlessly lifted the little girl into her arm. Then she picked up her axe from the ground before she started to make her way back. She knew she could not bring her into the town, so she would just take the girl to Sally. Sally would know what to do. After all, Sally always knew what to do.

Panting heavily Meg jogged the last few meters to the Coldwind Farm and jumped up the steps to the entrance door, where she finally stopped. She took two deep breaths and calmed her pulse before entering the house.

"Hello, I'm back," she announced her arrival.

"Excellent," someone answered from the kitchen. "Bring me the groceries, then we'll have lunch."

Meg walked over into the kitchen and handed Sally her backpack. The Nurse immediately put it on the worktop next to the fridge. She began sorting the food Meg hat bought onto various shelfs, before she grabbed a metal pot and placed it on the stove. In the meantime, Meg sat down at the table with Max, who was deeply focused on deciphering the words and phrases in Claudette's dinosaur book.

"Hi, Max," she greeted and glanced at the pages where she recognized the image of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

"Meg hello," Max murmured, but continued to concentrate on the text in the book. The athlete quickly skimmed through the information in one of the text boxes and asked, "How are you doing?"

"Difficult," Max stammered, "Many words, long words."

"Tyrannosaurus," Meg mumbled and nodded, "There´s a lot of long names in there, but it's a good exercise for you and Anna. Keep at it."

Max nodded happily and chuckled, while Sally curiously fished something out of Meg's backpack. Unfolding the crumbled paper, she quickly flew over the lines on a flyer, that seemed to advertise a marathon.

"Hey, Meg," Sally said over her shoulder, "Are you planning to participate?"

Meg looked over at her in surprise and Sally held the flyer in the air.

"No," the athlete replied. "Some sporty looking girl put it in my hand before I could say anything. But I shouldn't draw attention to myself, or we´ll run the risk of being discovered."

The Nurse briefly looked at Meg, at the flyer and then at Meg again, before quickly checking the pot. Then she sat down at the table.

"Would you like to participate?"

Meg looked up and briefly glanced at the flyer in Sally's hand before answering, "I don't know. I haven't been to an event like this in a long time."

"I can see that you miss running."

Meg shrugged her shoulders. "A little. But I don't think that..."

"Then why don't you start running again?" Sally interrupted her. "This is a perfect opportunity. And seriously, the three of us are the last people you need to worry about."

"What if I meet someone and they decide to show up here?" Meg asked uncertainly. "If they find out about you in town, they'll come out here and lynch you, I'm sure of it."

"First," Sally lifted a finger, "As soon as they see Max, they´ll be legging it. Second," she lifted her next finger. "None of that´s not gonna happen just because you took part in a marathon."

"I thought it would be better not to take any risk."

"That's no risk," Sally replied. "Please, Meg, I see you've been longing for company ever since we got back from New York."

"I..."

"And I completely understand if. If you keep sitting here with us any longer, you'll miss half your life. Please, promise me you'll participate."

Sally held the flyer out to her, but Meg only looked at it. After a while she finally nodded and took the flyer in her hand. At the same time the front door opened, and Anna came stomping in, carrying something on her arm.

"Hello Anna, have you brought us something with you again...", Sally asked, but broke off in the middle of the sentence when the Huntress put a little girl on the floor who immediately hid behind her. Anna looked briefly at the little one before she turned to Sally.

"Oh my God, Anna, we talked about this," Sally called and stood up. "You were to leave the children alone. Please tell me you didn't hurt anyone."

"I didn't hurt," the killer replied, "Other kids haven't seen me."

"Why did you take her with you?"

"She lost in woods."

"You got lost in the woods?" Sally asked, addressing the little girl this time. She only nodded from behind Anna's knee and Sally knelt in front of her. Meanwhile, the Huntress asked, "I did wrong?"

"No," Meg answered over from the table, scratching her head. "But I think we´ve a problem now.

Sally now reached out to the child and asked. "What's your name, my dear?"

"Marie"

"Marie," the Nurse nodded, "I hope Anna didn't scare you too much."

The girl shook her head.

"Come on, you don't have to be afraid of us," Sally said gently and the little one slowly came out from behind Anna. Her gaze was fixed at Sally's orange eye until she spotted Max sitting at the table. Fearfully she stopped again.

"You don't have to be afraid," Sally repeated and stood up. "My name is Sally, that's Max. He may look angry, but he's a very sweet fellow. I promise."

Max tried to smile but failed miserably.

"And that's Meg," Sally continued, with the athlete behind her raising her hand to a greet. "You're from Weeks, right?"

The girl nodded.

"Well, Meg can get you back there," Sally said, "But first we´ll have lunch. Are you hungry?"

The girl hesitated a moment before nodding again.

"Then come and sit with us," Sally invited her, while Anna walked past her, leaned the axe against the wall and sat down at the table. Marie followed her hesitantly and was suddenly lifted into the Huntress´s lap. There she sat and stared at Max for a moment before she was approached by Meg.

"How old are you?"

"Ei... eight."

"I guess you´re already pretty good at reading then, right?"

Marie nodded and Meg said, "Anna and Max are practicing right now. They´re not bad as well but I´m sure you´re far better."

The girl seemed insecure and Meg pushed the dinosaur book over to her. "Here, try and help Max with these sentences."

Meanwhile Sally had returned to the stove and calculated the amount of rice she would need for four people. She herself would not eat anything, because just like sleep she only needed very little. For Meg she would add some vegetables, but Anna needed meat. Max was a true omnivore and would get a little bit of everything. In his case, however, a little bit meant a lot, as the Hillbilly ate for three men. Hopefully, he would leave something for Marie.

Sally tied an apron around her waist and then started frying schnitzel in a pan. Not too much, Anna liked her meat as raw and bloody as possible. But today Marie was here, maybe she should stick a little bit more to the norm, than usual. Sally shot a glance over her shoulder.

Marie and Meg were about to go through a sentence with Max and Sally was pleased to notice that the girl had almost lost all her shyness by now. She and Max burst out laughing in amusement when he repeatedly mispronounced a word.

A little time later, Sally was serving the food, while Meg took the dinosaur book and put it on a nearby shelf, right next to Nurse´s magazines. Since everyone had a ravenous appetite, the conversation died down until they had cleaned their plates empty. Then there was some more reading, until finally Sally looked at the clock and said, "What do you think, Marie, should Meg take you home now? We don't want your parents to worry about you."

The little girl nodded, so the athlete got up and put on her shoes. Meanwhile Marie said goodbye to Max and Anna, jumped from her chair and followed Meg to the door. The Huntress waved at her with a faint smile as she left the house, Meg following close behind her.

"Alright," she said. "Let´s take you home."

The day was nearing its end and the sun was close to touching the horizon as Meg and Marie finally reached Weeks. Chatting happily, they walked to the streets and the little girl could not seem to be stopped.

"So, you're new here?" Meg asked, and Marie nodded. "Mhm, we moved here a month ago. Me and my family."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I have a brother," Marie replied. "But he is much older than me and lives in a big city far away. My mother and he don't get along so well."

"Why is that?"

"My dad said he'd explain that to me later," Marie answered and balanced on the curb. "He also said he wasn't my real brother. Only half or something like that."

"I understand," Meg mumbled.

"Oh, can you explain it to me then? Because I didn´t understand it at all."

"I think that´s something your father should do," Meg replied, before changing the subject. "Did you know that I moved to Weeks only recently, too?"

"Really?"

"Yes, it was something like a year ago."

"But that´s not recently, silly," Marie said laughing. "That´s a long time."

"Maybe for you," Meg replied, feeling a smile on her lips. "Just wait till you're as old as I am, then you'll see how quickly time passes."

"How old are you anyway?" Marie asked, pulling Meg by the hand to the right.

"Twenty-two, in a few weeks' time," the athlete answered, and the little girl put her hands over her mouth in excitement. "That's not much longer! Can I come to your birthday party?"

"My birthday party? I don't think I'm going to have one."

"Why not?" Marie wanted to know, but Meg just shrugged her shoulders. "Don´t know. But let´s strike a deal, alright? If I´m making one, I´ll send you an invitation. Okay?"

"Okay," Marie nodded.

"Is it still far?" Meg asked and the little girl shook her head. "No, just around the corner. We don't have a big house, just a tiny flat. My dad says that's all he can afford. He doesn't make much money, I don't think. Not like you."

"What makes you think I earn a lot of money?"

"Because you have such a big house!"

"That's not really mine," Meg replied, "That's actually Max's. He got it from his family, and he's letting us live in it."

"So, Max makes a lot of money, then?"

"No," Meg said laughing, "His parents may have had a lot of money once, but the house is all that's left."

"That's a shame," Marie replied, before pointing to a run-down concrete building. "We're here."

Meg just needed a quick look to see that Marie's father really didn't have much money. As far as she knew, the building served as shelter for the lowest of workers employed in the fields by the rich landowners of Weeks. The rents were probably not too high, but with the condition the building was in, one could probably call any sum an exorbitant price. Suddenly Meg felt pity in her for Marie, who had to spend her innocent childhood in such a bleak and miserable environment. For a moment she just looked at the building. Then she turned around to Marie and knelt down.

"Okay, Marie, before I take you back to your parents, I need to ask something of you."

The girl looked at Meg.

"It's about Max, Anna and Sally," Meg explained. "As you´ve seen, they're really nice people. And just like you and me, all they wanna do is live a peaceful and undisturbed life. But they have a problem. You´ve seen it for yourself, they are not like everyone else and even though they are incredibly dear company, people might still be afraid of them. Do you understand me?"

Marie nodded.

"And when people are afraid, they might do bad things. Terrible things. So, you have to promise me that you won't tell anyone about them, okay? That's very important."

Marie nodded again and asked, "Not even my parents?"

"Not even your parents," Meg confirmed. "It has to be a secret between you and me. Not them, not your friends, not anyone."

"I don't have any friends," the girl said, with a sad expression suddenly covering face. Meg briefly raised her eyebrows before answering, "I'm sure you'll find friends among the village children soon."

"They don't like me," Marie murmured, looking up, "Can I come and visit you sometimes?"

"Marie, I... I don't think that would be a good idea."

Disappointed, she looked down again.

"Alright."

Meg paused for a moment and tried to ignore the knife piercing her heart. But it was better this way. Composing herself, she stood up again and opened the front door. First, she let Marie through before entering herself and followed the little one up the stairs.

On the second floor Marie stopped in front of a door and Meg raised her hand to knock on the dark wood two times. When she heard footsteps inside the apartment, she looked down at Marie and gave her a smile. But it was not returned. Then the apartment door opened, and Meg found herself facing a worried looking African American.

"Yes, how can I help you... Marie!"

The man immediately squatted and pulled his daughter into his arms.

"Where have you been? We already wanted to go looking for you."

"She got lost in the woods," Meg explained, and the man looked up at her. "She was in a state of complete panic. I gave her something to eat and then brought her back here."

The worker looked back down at his daughter and asked. "Weren't you out with the other children? I thought they knew the ways."

"Yeah, but they don't like me," the girl muttered, "They told me to go away."

Meg shook his head while the father took his daughter back into his arms, comforting her. Then he turned to the athlete and said, "Thank you."

"No problem."

"I'd love to give you something, but I'm afraid I don't have much myself."

"That's not necessary at all," Meg replied. "You have a wonderful daughter."

"I know," the man said, "Thank you again. I couldn't think of anything worse than something happening to her. By the way, my name is Leonard."

"Meg," the athlete answered and the two shook hands before Meg said goodbye and the man pulled his daughter into the apartment. Marie and Meg exchanged a last look over their shoulders before the door fell shut. With a dull rage in her stomach, the athlete turned around and made her way back to the farm.

"So?" Sally wanted to know, "Have we blown our cover?"

Meg took off her shoes first and sat down at the table before answering, "I don't think so. Marie promised me she wouldn't tell anybody. Besides, her family's not exactly popular in Weeks."

"How do you know?"

"Well, her father is one of the black field workers," Meg sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "And Marie didn't get lost in the woods on her own. She was left there by the other children."

"Really?" Sally asked, completely aghast. "That's terrible. Anna told me something similar earlier, but I didn't really believe her. The poor thing."

"Anyway, she won´t tell anyone, and even if she does, they´ll probably take it as just another childish, made-up story."

"Don't forget, you're not exactly popular among the townspeople either."

The athlete looked into her hands before she finally replied. "I know. But right now, there´s nothing we can do about it except wait and see."


	2. The Diversion

**The Diversion**

"Did you know there are five Statues of Liberty in Paris?"

"Statues of Liberty?" Dwight asked, "Like... New York Statues of Liberty? The one with the torch?"

"Yes," Claudette confirmed, "But none of them are as huge as the one we´ve seen in New York."

"I like to think so," Dwight mumbled and lifted his head reminiscing. In his mind, he conjured up images from their trip to New York and how he and Claudette had enjoyed the sunset I front of the city's landmark.

"They were set up after the war of independence, weren't they?" Nea asked, "France fought on the side of the states."

Claudette nodded, and Dwight muttered, "You both know your stuff."

"Of course," Claudette replied, "I need to know at least something about our common history when I fly to France, don´t I?"

Nea twisted her eyes.

"Oh God, I'm so excited," Claudette shouted, "One week from today I´ll already be flying over the Atlantic."

Dwight grumbled something incomprehensible, while Nea said, "Man, I´d love to come with you and be around normal people again."

"Normal people?" Dwight asked, "Aren't we normal people or what?"

"Well, folks over in Europe just think differently," Nea replied shrugging her shoulders and then pointed past Dwight, "Look, there she is."

Dwight and Claudette turned around and spotted a little Asian girl who came across the street with a grumpy expression on her face. Visibly in a bad mood, Feng joined her friends and growled, "This charade is too much, even once a year".

"Are they really that bad?" Claudette wanted to know with a comforting smile on her face. Instead of answering, Feng made an ugly grimace and drove her index finger over her throat before crying out in frustration, "They just can't accept that I'm happy with my life."

"We've seen a lot of cars," Dwight said, "Do they all belong to your family?"

"Yep."

"There must be well over fifty people in there," Dwight said amazed and Nea added, "Lots of Chinese in this world."

She gave Feng a smile, but it failed to have the desired effect. Instead, Claudette intervened, "Come on, let's go before someone comes looking for you."

"Love to"

Not even once did Feng look back at the restaurant, which had been completely booked out by an Asian family tonight. Still angry, she left it behind her in the darkness of the night and began to curse on her relatives.

"Just imagine, they dug up the cello thing again," Feng shouted and threw her hands in the air, "I never wanted to play the cello, I never could play the cello and I never will play the cello. Never!"

"We believe you," Nea tried to appease her.

"You do, but not my parents. Oh no," Feng growled, "No, they had to give a speech in front of the gathered table and bathe in self-pity about their oh so misshapen daughter for about a hundred hours."

"They gave a speech about you?" Dwight asked.

"No, not really," Feng replied, "Actually, they just wanted to congratulate Aunt Lei on her birthday. You know, the real reason everyone's here. But then it started again, that they would have tried everything, and their little Feng never heard, and then she started with these computers, and then she didn't even want to learn the cello, and now she works as a tidy-up for the American."

"Tidy-up for the American?" Claudette wondered, but Feng shook her head and replied, "It sounds worse in Mandarin."

"But you're much more than just a tidy-up, whatever that´s even supposed to mean," Dwight interjected. "Without you, the whole place would be running half as fast."

"Tell that to my parents," Feng murmured, but was happy about the compliment. A little cheered up, she said, "At least cousin Chao was there too."

"Chao?" Claudette asked, "You've never told us about him before."

"I haven't seen him for years," Feng replied. "He lives over in China, in Shenzhen."

"Cousin Chao... sounds like a hot guy," Nea speculated, but Feng shook her head laughing, "Believe me, Chao is the perfect opposite of a hot guy. He lives in virtual worlds, is more wide than high and has a playing time at WoW that he really shouldn´t be proud of anymore. We both share the title of the family´s black sheep. I embarrass our ancestors here in the USA and he destroys the family honour on the other side of the Pacific. Of course, they´ve banished us to opposite sides of the table when assigning seats. But enough of my family. You said you were up to something?"

"We did," Nea confirmed, conjuring up four little cards from one of her back pockets. Feng raised her eyebrows up and said, "Um... wow... what are those?"

"Those are movie tickets, silly," Nea explained. "I won one of those raffles at the theatre school this morning."

"You're playing the lottery?"

"It was for a good cause. The money will be used to support a project aimed at helping children in the Congo. Something about world peace and so on."

"How invested you are," Claudette murmured cynically, but Nea just waved her hand and replied, "Who cares? I won four tickets."

"And what movie are we watching?" Feng wanted to know.

"Shape of Water," Dwight replied, and Nea added, "Wouldn't have been my personal choice, but you know, there wasn´t really a choice."

"I've heard it's supposed to be good," Feng thought, "Has four Oscars, right? And David wasn't interested?"

"Actually, he was," Nea grinned, "Unfortunately there´s a camping trip in his school and half of the children wanted him to be their chaperone. He can´t really say no."

"Popularity is a double-edged sword," Claudette said, just as the group was circling the last corner and the cinema came in sight at the bottom of the street.

"Did you talk to Meg again?" Feng wanted to know and the Canadian answered, "Yes, I did, and she told me some interesting things. Apparently, Anna found a lost girl in the woods."

"They were discovered?" Nea asked, but Claudette shook her head, "No, the little girl kept her mouth shut. So far at least. And no one else has seen Anna. By the way, Meg´s about to take part in a marathon."

"It's about time," Dwight murmured, "All the sitting around isn´t good for a sports cannon like her. Do you still remember how depressed she was when we said goodbye to her in New York?"

"Yes," Feng replied, "She thought no one would notice."

"Last time I spoke to her, she was in a pretty good mood," Claudette interjected. "I hope she's fine."

* * *

With screeching tires the bus came to a halt, the doors opened, and Meg jumped out onto the sidewalk. There she adjusted a strap of her backpack and let her gaze slide down the street.

Burlington was bigger than Weeks, Meg already knew that, but it had the same sleepy atmosphere as its neighbouring town. The people strolled their way calmly, stopped every now and then to greet acquaintances and bought in shops whose owners they would later meet at the regulars' table.

On the other side of the road, a policeman just left the local police department and headed for his patrol car. He didn't seem to be in a hurry, so Meg ran over quickly and shouted, "Excuse me?"

The policeman raised his head and looked around. When he discovered Meg, he took off his sunglasses and asked, "Yes? How can I help you?"

"Could you show me the way to the sports club, please?"

"Of course," the policeman nodded, raising his arm in a certain direction, "Just walk down the street until you reach the big intersection. Turn right and enter the fourth building on the left."

"Thank you."

"You´re welcome."

Meg turned around and followed the directions so that a little later she stood in front of a large glass door. It belonged to a tall building with several floors and various plaques indicated that several bureaus were housed in the building. The institution she was looking for had an office on the second floor.

Meg pushed the door open and stepped into a dark stairwell, which brought her straight up to the office of the sports club. After a short knock on the door followed by the dull invitation to enter, she stepped into the room.

It was a small office, furnished with two desks and a cupboard, as well as a high display case filled with cups and medals. One of the walls was decorated with a row of pennants and flags, while a glass door led into a second room. To her right, a window was facing the street.

"Good morning, how can I help you?"

Meg's head shot forward and spotted a dark-haired young man sitting behind a desk grinning at her.

"Hello," Meg said and briefly ordered her thoughts, "I am here to register for the marathon next week. Do you still have open numbers?"

"We do," the young man replied and put his hands on the keyboard of his computer. After typing something in, his right hand flew over to the mouse and made three quick clicks while he said, "Unfortunately, I have to admit that we actually have a lot of them left." He gave Meg a friendly smile. "It's the first time we've organized a marathon and the local population has proved quite unmotivated. I´m glad you chose differently."

Meg nodded and stepped a little closer to the desk. Her gaze wandered across to the trophies and she noticed that a lot of them came from sports like sprint, hurdles or relay races. Disciplines she herself had already competed in a lot of times.

"So far, so good," the young man said, pressing the Enter key with determination, "All that´s left is your name and the registration fee."

"Meg Thomas," Meg said, and put a green dollar bill on the table. The young took the money and let it disappear into a till. Then he went over to the big closet, opened it and pulled out a white sheet of paper that he gave to Meg before entering her name into the computer. Looking down at her starting number she saw 547.

"The marathon starts over there in front of the old town hall," the young man explained and pointed out of the window, "Just down the street to the main square. We start at 9:30."

Meg nodded, "All right."

"You know, it seems to me that I've seen you somewhere before," the young man wondered, eyeing Meg with a questioning glance. Then he snapped his fingers. "Weren't you the girl in front of the supermarket in Weeks?"

"Yes, that was me," Meg replied, pleased to be remembered.

"I remember Ellie telling me that she had a good feeling about you," the young man said, "And here you are. Obviously, she wasn't wrong. By the way, the name´s Chris."

He extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you," Meg replied. Chris had a strong handshake, just like one would expect from an athlete.

"Well then..." Chris said, "See you at the starting line."

"I´ll be there," Meg confirmed. In the bus back to Weeks she still held the white starting number made of tearproof paper, while her gaze rested lost in thought on the gliding landscape. Next week she would cross the same distance on foot, equipped with nothing but the power of her own body. What a pleasure!

Meg had immediately noticed that Chris was well trained and at the height of his physical strength. She herself, on the other hand, had not competed in any race for years and would probably not finish until a long time after him and his colleges. If she even made it that far.

After some time, the bus stopped in Weeks and released her back down onto the rough asphalt. Finally, she put the starting number in her backpack and already went on her way back to Coldwind Farm, when someone called her. Surprised, she turned around and saw a black man walking across the street towards her.

"Meg," he shouted, waving his hand. The athlete reacted by stopping and raising her hand as well. A moment later, the African American was standing right in front of her.

"Hi, Leonard," Meg said, shaking his hand. "What can I do for you?"

"You know, Meg," Leonard replied, "I never really thanked you for bringing Marie back to me."

"Please, that was the least I could do," Meg answered. She remembered the cute girl and wondered where she was at the time. Hopefully she was not roaming around the farm again.

"No, it wasn´t" Leonard insisted, "May I at least invite you to a coffee? It's only a small gesture, but I´d be happy if you´d accept."

Meg thought for a moment and a glance at her wristwatch told her she was still early. So she nodded to Leonard, which put a smile on his face.

"Great," he shouted and pointed down the street, "I suggest we go to Kelly´s, she makes the best coffee in town. You ever been there?"

Meg shook her head.

"She has Italian roots," Leonard explained, "and that's noticeable in her coffee, believe me. Her father´s from Tuscany, as far as I know. Moved here and opened the bar."

"Tuscany?" Meg asked with a disbelieving grin, "Why in the world would he leave Tuscany for Weeks?"

Leonard just shrugged and answered, "Don´t know. Never asked. But if I had to take a guess, it was either massive troubles or a beautiful woman. Probably both. What else could there be?"

Meg laughed briefly and the next moment she already spotted the small café Leonard was leading her to. She had noticed it a few times in passing, but never given it much thought, let alone considered a visit. There were three tables in front of the glass entrance, equipped with flower pots and chairs. Above it one could recognize the writing, "Kelly´s".

"They named the bar after their daughter?" Meg asked, and Leonard nodded. "She was born the same year they opened. That was a good thirty years ago. Meanwhile she´s taken over."

"How do you know all this?" Meg wanted to know when Leonard held the door open for her, "You've only been here for a few months, right?"

"Kelly is a talkative woman," the African American grinned, "and I quickly became a regular customer."

Meg nodded and looked around. Her gaze fell on a wooden counter, a few low tables with comfortably upholstered benches and a large potted plant in one of the corners of the room. Several heads turned to the newcomers, but Leonard's attention was focused only on the person behind the bar.

"Hey, Kelly."

"Leonard," a curvy blonde shouted happily, "I'll be right with you. Sit down, your usual seat´s free."

"Wonderful," Leonard mumbled, pulling Meg over to a round table next to a window that provided a good view out on the street.

"She recognized you immediately", Meg noticed, "You really seem to be here a lot."

"A lot," Leonard confirmed, "And mostly late in the evening. It's a good place to start a conversation."

"I've been in Weeks for almost two years now," Meg remarked, "and I've never seen this place from the inside before."

"Then it was high time," Leonard replied and after a short hesitation he wanted to know, "You live on the Coldwind Farm, right?"

"Exactly."

"I hope I'm not too curious now," the African American said, "but how does someone like you get to own such a place?"

"Someone like me?" Meg asked and pulled up her eyebrows.

"Friendly, young, pretty" Leonard explained, "with the gates of the world wide open. Why Weeks?"

"Well," Meg murmured, recalling the story she had agreed with Sally in case she ever had to answer such a question. "My mother suffers from a serious illness and she needs the peace of the countryside. So, I moved to Weeks with her, caring for her and allowing her to enjoy the rest of her life. She can be very sensitive to unknown or unexpected things, so it would be better if nobody visited us on the farm."

"I'm sorry about that," Leonard said, looking down in shame, "I didn't know..."

"Don't worry about it," Meg replied, rejoicing inwardly that she had delivered the lie perfectly, "We´re having a good life. My father works in New York and sends us all the money we need. And she´s responded well to the environment. Under the current circumstances, she´s going to stay with me for a long time. We´re fine, really."

"I'm glad to hear," Leonard said and then turned to Kelly, who had just appeared at the table. The two greeted each other heartily, Leonard made a quick joke that Kelly apparently found highly amusing and the exact meaning of which was probably known only to the two before the waitress turned her attention to Meg.

"So, you´re finally visiting me, huh?" she said, sporting a broad smile. Meg looked surprised and asked, "Do we know each other?"

"No," Kelly shook his head, "At least not directly. But I know who you are. You're the pretty girl who bought Coldwind Farm a year ago, or how long has it been?"

"Almost two years," Meg replied and shook the waitress's hand, "Meg Thomas."

"Kelly Marconi," she introduced himself. Then she turned to Leonard again and asked, "How did you two get to know each other? I thought you were working for old Baxter."

"I am," Leonard confirmed, "I don't know Meg from work, but from Marie."

"Marie? Your cute, little daughter?"

"Yes. She got lost in the woods a week ago. Meg found her and brought her back to me."

"Lost in the woods?" Kelly laughed, "Well, well, well. But it's understandable for a girl who just moved here." She took a quick look over her shoulder and said, "I'd love to have a chat with you two cuties, but new customers are coming in. So, what can I get you?"

Meg and Leonard placed their orders and Kelly immediately ran off. Her clientele wanted to be served. Meg looked after her briefly and then turned to Leonard, "Speaking of Marie, how is she? Is she all right?"

"She's fine," Leonard replied, "Of course moving is always a little troubling for a young child. But it's not the first time we've done it. I just wish the other kids would integrate her a little better."

"Hasn't she made any friends yet?"

Leonard shook his head, "There are two or three with whom she gets along a little, but real friends... no, unfortunately not. At least none that I know of."

"I don't understand," Meg replied. "She´s such a nice girl."

"You don´t have to tell me," Leonard sighed, "But you heard it yourself. She didn't just get lost in the woods. She was left there when she tried to play with the other kids."

"I know," the athlete nodded, "Have you spoken to their parents?"

"Of course, I have," the African American replied, "But I don't think they really listened. Here in rural USA, people are a little... different. Not so tolerant."

"Unfortunately, you're right," Meg confirmed. "Even after two years, I´m still getting eyed on with suspicion every time I cross the street."

"I wish my brother had been here," Leonard replied. "He would have showed them."

"Your brother?"

"Works for the FBI," Leonard said, "Don´t know much about it, though. It's top secret, apparently."

"The FBI has a penchant for secrets," Meg nodded.

"You have acquaintances in the bureau?"

"One could call it acquaintances," Meg laughed, "I was once involved in a kidnapping case. But it's been a long time ago."

"Oh, my good," Leonard was amazed. "That must have been terribly frightening."

In Meg's head, images appeared of the dark emptiness of the fog, the tentacles of the Entity and the grimaces of the Trapper and the Doctor. A shiver ran down her spine, but she managed to hide her discomfort. "It was frightening, yeah. And a lot of paperwork afterwards."

Leonard laughed. "The FBI is a government agency. They can´t even lift a pen without paperwork. You wouldn't believe the effort my wife is putting into acquiring American citizenship for her parents."

"Is she from abroad?"

"No, she was born here. But her parents escaped from Rwanda. During a civil war."

"Sometimes I really forget how good we have it here," Meg muttered and Leonard nodded, "Unfortunately, not all parts of the world enjoy peace."

The conversation was briefly interrupted when Kelly dropped off her drinks. Afterwards, they kept chatting about various topics, mainly trivial everyday matters. Leonard told Meg a little about his work, but soon the athlete looked at her watch and noticed that Sally was already waiting for her. So she quickly drank her coffee, said goodbye and made her way back to Coldwind Farm.

* * *

Shuhrat Kessikbayev took a deep breath, tightened his fingers around his AK and calmed his heartbeat. He had learned a long time ago that the most important skill of an operator was neither weapon handling nor endurance or physical strength.

Of course, excellence in these fields was essential if one wanted to pursue a military career, especially one that would bring one into the ranks of Team Rainbow, the international task force made up of operators from around the whole world. Only the best of the best were admitted and all members were brilliant shooters and excellent melee fighters. But the most important skill of an operator was to keep a cool head in situations where his life was at stake.

"All right," Thatcher whispered right behind him, looking at his wristwatch. "Time to get going. Just stick to the plan."

None of the four operators gave an answer, but all had understood their squad leader´s command. Mike "Thatcher" Baker was the oldest and most experienced soldier in all of Team Rainbow, which was reflected in his methods. Instead of relying on state-of-the-art technology, the S.A.S. operator was an expert at using far simpler tools like knives for example.

Before him stood Gilles Touré, the man whom everyone knew by the name of Montagne; the mountain. The hallmark of the giant GIGN operator was the heavy deployable shield, which everyone just called Le Roc. In dire situations, he could unfold and transform it into an impenetrable wall. In Shuhrat's eyes Montagne was one of the most valuable operators to the team, his steel nerves and his experience as an active soldier made him a reliable comrade whom Shurat trusted with his life.

To the left of Montagne was the Canadian Sebastien "Buck" Coté. His shotgun - the infamous skeleton key - was a true beast when they needed to break through defences, windows and even walls. He was an unbelievably pragmatic man who never lost one word too much. A quality that Shuhrat greatly appreciated.

He himself was a member of the Russian Spetznaz and one of the first to join Team Rainbow. With his self-developed Matryoshka charges, it was easy for him to clear out rooms full of tangos without putting himself in any danger whatsoever. His explosive little tools did a perfect job and had earned him the nickname Fuze.

And then there was Grace Nam, who was kneeling behind Fuze, nervously waiting for the mission to begin. Her nickname was Dokkaebi, she was a young soldier from South Korea, and the newest member of Team Rainbow. Fuze did not know how she had made it into the team, but somehow, she had passed all the tests and exams and now Six had sent her to the frontlines. Now it was time for her to prove her abilities.

"Montagne, Buck, on me," Thatcher commanded with a deep British accent, "Fuze, Dokkaebi, you go around back." Then he turned to the South Korean specifically, "Eyes open, rookie, it's getting fockin serious."

Dokkaebi nodded, fondled a dark strand of hair from her face and stuck it back under her black cap. Thatcher, whose face was hidden behind a gas mask, gave a quick hand signal and in the dark night everyone moved to their assigned positions. Fuze took the lead, with Dokkaebi following closely. He looked through the visor of his AK and let his gaze wander across the tall building they were attacking this night. Every single window was barricaded. The defenders had prepared themselves.

Protected by darkness, Fuze and Dokkaebi crept along the building's walls and finally reached a door that was barricaded as well. Dokkaebi shot a quick glance over her shoulder, apparently looking for her teammates, but Thatcher, Montagne and Buck had already vanished toward the other side of the complex.

"Concentrate, "Fuze growled and the South Korean immediately turned her head forward again. The two squatted down and secured all possible directions of attack while waiting for further orders. It did not take long until Thatcher's voice came up on their headsets, "We're making a little noise on our side now. As soon as you hear some noise, you go in."

"Understood," Fuze replied, glancing sideways at Dokkaebi. It was so quiet that he could hear her breath and relieved the Russian recognized that she was also able to keep her cool. Maybe there was more to her after all. The South Koreans had certainly not sent her without reason, but it was a question that only the future could answer.

The bang of an explosion echoed through the night and made the streetlights tremble. Shortly after, crackling shots could be heard, thundering against Montagne's' heavy shield. Someone screamed.

"That's our signal," Dokkaebi whispered, but Fuze ignored her. Instead, he rammed the stock of his weapon against the barricade, breaking it down with only three decisive blows. Hoping that the noise of the ongoing battle on the other side had drowned out his intrusion, Fuze took a step into the darkness.

The Spetsnaz let his gaze wander along the walls. Carefully he looked for traps, explosive charges or tripwires while his weapon remained aimed at one of the two doors leading away from the small room. Dokkaebi was close behind him, securing the other door - an action that happened completely automatic.

After he had discovered nothing, Fuze raised his hand and gave the sign to move forward. Slowly the two progressed deeper into the building, always on guard against possible traps or ambushes. The Russian knew that their enemies were experienced and trained fighters. One wrong step would inevitably mean the end.

A dull bang followed by the screeching of a submachine gun echoed through the building, while Fuze followed the agreed plan and steered his steps to the right. He had studied the blueprints of the building and knew that there would be a stairwell. I would take him and Dokkaebi to the upper floor, from where they would launch a surprise attack on the defenders who had barricaded themselves with a hostage on the ground level. Hopefully the diversion had attracted enough attention and cleared their path.

Carefully Fuze leaned around a corner and looked down a long corridor, his assault rifle at the ready. Behind him Dokkaebi stepped out into the hallway and turned toward the direction, where she discovered the staircase. Silently, she walked up the steps, lifting her weapon higher and higher to immediately target any enemy she might surprise. Fortunately, the stairwell, like the rest of the building, was completely abandoned.

Without losing sight of the long corridor, Fuze followed the young Korean and moved up the stairs behind her. The first floor had the same structure as the ground floor, one long hallway led down the whole building with doors to the left and right.

"The hostage´s now right below us," Fuze whispered, pointing to the floor of one of the empty rooms, "I´ll set up a breaching charge here and a Matryoshka there. You cover me."

"Wait a minute," Dokkaebi replied quietly, "I'm preparing a logic bomb."

"We don't have time for this," Fuze replied when another explosion shook the house, but the Korean had already drawn out her experimental tablet and used her fingers to edit the touch screen. Fuze watched her briefly, torn back and forth between mission protocol and the need to assist his comrades as quickly as possible.

When a dull scream penetrated the floor, he decided on the latter and hurriedly took one of the explosive charges from his belt. He rolled it out flat on the floor and then sneaked over to an adjoining room where he placed one of his Matryoshkas. As usual, the device drilled itself into the underground and a moment later signalled with a flashing light that it was ready.

Fuze nodded and wanted to turn back to Dokkaebi when a loud bang scratched into his ears. A bright flash of light illuminated the room. With a cry of pain, Dokkaebi fell to the ground and dropped her weapon. Her hands shot up to her chest.

Immediately Fuze put his AK against his shoulders and scanned the room through the visor. In the darkness he could hardly see anything. Adrenaline rushed through his veins and with pure willpower he brought his heartbeat back under control. Or at least he tried.

In the middle of the room, Dokkaebi groaned in agony and tried to get up, but soon collapsed again. With a dull thump the she fell back to the floor, wrapping both arms around her upper body.

Swearing, Fuze slowly moved towards his companion, aiming his weapon in all directions. His breath had accelerated, and his eyes were frantically looking for the enemy who had thrown the impact grenade. Fuze knew that he was no longer in control of the situation and that circumstance could cost him his life at any moment.

Suddenly, rumbling footsteps approached his back and the Spetsnaz drove around, ready to mow down four attackers at once. But he was too slow. A foot rushed towards his upper body and pushed his assault rifle aside. Three shots crashed through the room, while the Russian was pushed down on his back.

The kick had deprived him of his breath and before could react, he was brutally grabbed and turned around. The ambusher´s weight pushed him to the ground when she positioned herself with her knee on his upper body, making him completely immobile. The glimpse of an eye later he could already feel the cold of a steel blade on his neck, while a voice whispered into his ear, "You´re mine now"

A siren sounded, and simultaneously the lights went on throughout the whole house. Instantly, the weight of Fuze's upper body disappeared and cursing he scrambled onto his feet. He shot a brief glance to Dokkaebi, who was still down on all fours, desperately gasping for air, before he turned to Caveira. The Brazilian, as always wearing her skull-like warpaint, greeted him with a disparaging grin, and playfully let her knife dance through her fingers. Then she shoved it back into the holder on her ammunition belt.

Taina Pereira was an unpredictable fighter of the Brazilian BOPE and was only accepted into Team Rainbow two years ago. It was not the first time she had taken Fuze by surprise during a training scenario, yet she was still able to catch him at the right moment. It was infuriating.

With a muttered Russian curse, he shook his head and dragged himself over to his Matryoshka charge, which he released from the floor and attached to his belt. Meanwhile, Caveira laughed quietly, threw her black plait over her shoulder and left the room.

Finally, also Dokkaebi got on her feet. With a grimace of pain, she grabbed the explosive charge that Fuze had laid out previously. Then she followed Caveira toward the stairwell to meet with the other participants in the exercise for a debriefing session.

Both she and Fuze knew that the attackers had failed poorly, and the Russian already wanted to stop the young Korean to tell her his opinion. If she had secured the environment as he had told her to, Caveira would have never been able to sneak up on them like that. However, teaching the new recruits was not his job.

Still cursing, he was the last to leave the upper floor, walk down the stairs and make his way towards the front entrance. Passing by, he glanced into the room where the hostage had been held. The role of the helpless civilian had been played by a female soldier of the French military who had just been on the same base and whose boring service had probably gained considerably in tension through the exercise.

Now the young lady comfortably brushed the dust off her uniform and gave Fuze a pitiful smile. Of course, she knew that the attackers had screwed up their mission. After all, none of them had appeared to rescue her.

Growling, Fuze stepped out of the building to join his comrades, who had already gathered with their opponents in a semicircle in front of Seamus "Sledge" Cowden. The tall Scot with the bald head had been one of the first members of Team Rainbows, just like Fuze, and had taken over the supervision of this exercise. He had been able to follow every movement, tactic and action by means of cameras which had been installed both in the house and on the operators. What now followed was his evaluation.

In silence, Fuze stood next to Dokkaebi, who was still pressing one hand on the spot where she had been hit by Caveira's practice grenade. With a gloomy look he made it clear to the Korean that he blamed her for the failure of the mission and would not stand up for her in any way. Then he looked over to Caveira, who stood next to the other defenders and was still sporting a satisfied grin.

Next to her were GSG9 operator Dominik "Bandit" Brunsmeier, FBI specialist Miles "Castle" Campbell, Polish GROM fighter Elzbieta "Ela" Bosak and Fuzes compatriot Alexandr "Tachanka" Senaviev.

The latter had taken command of the defenders during the exercise and, as so often, his many years of experience had paid off. The diversion had not been enough to distract the old Russian and so he had instructed Caveira to lie in wait in the abandoned parts of the building. A strategy that had obviously proved successful.

When Sledge realized that all the participants had arrived, he prepared himself to speak and Fuze already braced himself for the oncoming lecture. But first the Scotsman turned to the GSG9 defender.

"Dominik," he said with his eyebrows raised, "What was that action against Gilles? I hope you´re aware that such undertakings entail unmanageable risks in real combat situations."

Bandit nodded, but he did not seem to take the criticism to heart. Whatever he did, it must have worked. Fuze opened the clasp on his helmet, pulled the heavy armour off his head, and then took a questioning look at Montagne.

"He jumped out of a window to flank me," the Frenchman whispered and Fuze nodded. In a real situation, such an approach would most likely be impossible as the outside of the building would have been secured by snipers. Any defender who just wanted to take a casual look at the weather outside would immediately lose his head.

Next, Sledge turned to Thatcher, who was taking off his gas mask. The face of an old man appeared and calmly awaited Sledge´s judgement.

"Interesting course of action," the Scotsman said, nodding approvingly, "But a little obvious, don´t you think. An attack in which only three of the five known opponents show themselves can quickly be interpreted as a diversionary manoeuvre. Besides, you and Gilles left poor Sebastien a little behind sometimes. Watch out for your comrades. After all, he's covering not only his own but your hairy ass as well."

A whispering laugh went through the round, but neither Fuze nor Dokkaebi joined in, because now it was their turn. With a meaningful look, Sledge turned his bald head in their direction, took a short pause and then muttered, "But the reason the attack failed today lies elsewhere."

Dokkaebi looked down on the ground while Fuze had his eyes on Sledge in silence.

"You two were the undercover part of the operation," the Scotsman continued, "you entered a building you knew was under enemy control. Admittedly, at the beginning you executed the manoeuvre right after the textbook and covered all directions in an exemplary way. You proceeded carefully and supported each other. Later, however... The members of Team Rainbow are the best of the best in all fields, including teamwork. The strength of a soldier comes from his comrades and often enough the fact that that he can rely on this squad is the crucial difference between life and death. Grace, I know that your independent and energetic action in the Korean military has taken you pretty far and I appreciate these qualities. But in Team Rainbow you're playing a game you can't win alone. Shuhrat has instructed you to secure the environment as he prepared the breaching charges and I suggest that you follow the advice of your senior comrades. Understand?"

Dokkaebi, who had meanwhile adopted a firmer stance, nodded militarily and shouted "Yes, sir."

Sledge nodded, turned to Fuze and said, "You know well enough what you've done wrong. If your squad mates aren´t covering the environment, then you have to do it."

Fuze nodded and as Sledge turned his head to the side, he gave Dokkaebi another brooding look.

"Alexandr, Taina, Elzbieta and Miles…" Sledge said, "good work, you've done well. Alright men, that's the end of today's exercise. It's been a long and exhausting week and you've earned your break. Tomorrow you're off duty and if you want to drink each other under the table, please be my guests. But the day after tomorrow, it's six o'clock right in the morning right here. Keep that in your ugly heads."

Another laugh went through the operators and Fuze looked westward to the top of the Eiffel Tower, which rose up into the red sky beside the setting sun. He had been stationed at the military base near Paris for almost two months now, but he had never actually set foot into the French capital. Maybe tomorrow it was finally time to visit the restaurants of the metropolis with Alexandr.

"And as you all know," Sledge concluded before releasing them, "the losing team´s getting the cold showers."

For the third time the defenders burst out laughing, while the defeated attackers could only grumble. They all were elite soldiers and as such they were used to much worse condition than cold showers. Nevertheless, there was nothing better after a hard training day than to stand under a stream of lukewarm water and just relax.

The shower room assigned to them by the French military was shared by both male and female members of the unit and had two rows of showers on opposite sides of the room. The left side worked perfectly fine, while the right only supplied cold water for an unknown reason. And cold in this case meant ice age cold. Even the Canadian operator Tina "Frost" Lin Tsang, a descendant of the Inuit, who was usually completely indifferent towards any temperature below zero, had not been able to suppress a shudder at the feeling of the cool water on her back.

* * *

"Good morning," a cheerful voice greeted, and Meg turned around. She had just tried to attach the starting number to the front of her shirt and still fiddling with the pins, she discovered the girl who had handed her the flyer in Weeks.

"Hey, Ellie," Meg greeted and lowered her eyes back down to her number. Just when she had managed to finally fix it, the lively Latina stopped next to her and said, "Chris told me you were taking part. I'm glad you changed your mind."

"I haven't run in a long time," Meg replied, "I hope I´ll be able to keep up."

"Have you seen the competition?" Ellie laughed, "Well, me, Chris and our colleagues are reasonably well trained, but the rest... I don't think you have much to fear."

Meg let her gaze wander over the crowd of other runners who had just gathered at the main square of Burlington and nodded. Ellie was right, there was really not a lot of competition and only a few of them seemed to be real athletes.

"You might be right," Meg sighed, and Ellie agreed, "You´ll be just fine. See you at the finish line."

"Hopefully," Meg mumbled sarcastically.

"Certainly," Ellie insisted and then disappeared back into the crowd. Meg looked after her for a moment and could not help but feel a slight smile. It was good to be back among people who had no history of killing and butchering and whose biggest worries were upcoming exams or deadlines at work. People who were not haunted by nightmare creatures during the night and plagued by panic attacks during the day. People who were just that. People.

An announcer ripped Meg out of her thoughts. The marathon was about to commence, and all the runners were called to the starting line. Somewhere a band played a march to celebrate the day and as she turned her head, Meg could see the top of a tent she knew belonged to a sausage stand. However, she also knew that it was not a good idea to have a large meal just before a marathon. Heavy dishes such as greasy sausages had to be avoided at all costs.

Shaking her head, Meg watched a man who, at the announcement, hastily handed his wife a paper plate. The guy would certainly run out of breath long before the finish line, Meg thought and turned away laughing silently. She pulled down her old, blue cap, which she had already worn on so many races, so that her eyes were protected from the sun. Then she meandered her way through the crowd and stood directly at the starting line.

Meg wanted to keep up with the top runners as long as possible, her personal pride did not allow anything else. To her left, she discovered Chris smiling friendly at her. Shyly she returned the smile and then looked at an older gentleman standing to the right of the line, holding a pistol in his hand. The man's attention was focused on a colleague who stood a little apart on an elevated position and had a good overview of the crowd. A moment later he nodded, and the old man lifted the pistol over his head.

"Take your places," the command was given, and suddenly an atmosphere of tense calm filled the air. Meg closed her eyes and felt her body. Her legs were relaxed and powerful, ready to take on long strains. Her head was empty, her attention focused on the track.

"Ready!"

Meg opened her eyes again and looked down the road. She felt the breath in her lungs and concentrated on an even rhythm as goose bumps drove along her arms. It was so long ago that she had taken part in a running event and the experience of standing at the starting line once again filled her with sudden joy and euphoria.

A single shot ripped through the air and thousands of feet began trampling over the asphalt. Immediately Meg was overtaken by several runners who pushed away from the crowd at a rapid pace. But the red-haired athlete did not worry about falling back, at least not yet.

The route was just over forty kilometres long. Those who thought they had to push ahead now would soon fall behind everyone else. Speed was important, but a good runner knew how to distribute his power evenly over the entire distance. From the corner of her eye, Meg recognized Chris and was pleased to see that he had set exactly the same pace as her. Highly determined, she turned her attention back to the street, controlled her breath and ran towards the rising sun.

* * *

When the shrill ring of the bell echoed through the corridors of the Backwell Academy, Maxine Caulfield was the first to rise, say goodbye to her classmates and storm out of Ms. Grants laboratory. Once she was out in the corridors, she ran straight to her locker, where she stored all her books, before reaching for the backpack and hanging it around her shoulders. Finally, she made her way toward the front gate.

As always at this time of the day, the halls of Blackwell were filled with students who happily chatted during their lunch break and gathered strength for the afternoon classes. Normally Max would have been one of them, might have sat down with Warren on the lawn in front of the main building, might have dashed over to the Two Whales with Kate or might have just tried to avoid Victoria and her clique. But not today. Today the lessons she had to take were over and to be exact, she would not set foot in the Academy for quite a while.

Max almost collided with Director Wells, who just entered the main building and gave her a stern look. Passing by, she called out a half-hearted apology and hurried out onto the campus. Her way led her past the great statue of Jeremiah Blackwell, who had founded the first educational institution in Arcadia Bay and whose image still watched over one of the best universities in the region.

But Max did not waste a single look on him. Instead her eyes wandered over at the ruins of the dormitory, the building which had been her home during her first semester here. The storm that had hit Arcadia Bay last year and devastated half of the city, had not spared the old school. The main building, which housed the classrooms and laboratories, had suffered considerable damage to the roof and west side, which had now been repaired thanks to a focused effort by the community. The dormitories, on the other hand, had been destroyed completely and were still being rebuilt.

Max had been lucky enough to find a temporary home with Chloe's family. Joyce had welcomed her daughters' best friend with open arms, while David - Chloe's stepfather - with whom the blue-haired rebel had a somewhat ambivalent relationship, had at least not spoken out against her. However, there was another reason for Chloe's willingness to invite Max into her home.

The two of them, Max and Chloe, were the only ones who knew that the storm, that had almost erased Arcadia Bay from the map, had not been a random natural event at all. That it had been specifically related to Max´s efforts to save Chloe's life. Only in the very end had it become clear to Max that saving the city meant losing Chloe and when she had to make the Choice, she had not hesitated for a second. And Chloe had been infinitely grateful for it.

Their decision had cost some people their lives and the damage to the city had gone into the millions. But Chloe had survived, and Max had never looked back. She felt guilty, but no remorse.

Max wiped the thoughts aside as her eyes fell on the rusted truck that Chloe had found and repaired years ago at an abandoned scrap yard. Rachel had still been alive back then and Max knew that there were many memories tied to the vehicle. Otherwise, she would have advised Chloe to get rid of it a long time ago.

In front of the vehicle stood its lanky owner with the usual mischievous grin on her face. The blue hair half hidden under a cap and dressed in the usual dirty jeans and white tank top, Chloe threw the cigarette she had been smoking on the floor and stomped it out with her foot. Then she stepped up to meet Max, who was just taking the last steps down from the campus onto the street, and shouted in a cheeky tone, "Now I remember how time time´s dragging when you're waiting for the school bell to ring."

"Dark memories returning?" Max asked, and Chloe pretended as if she was shivering, "Buahhh, you bet. I've spent every single hour of art history staring at the clock and counting down the seconds."

"You mean, the few times you were actually there?"

"Touché," Chloe admitted and opened the right door of the rusty truck, "The limousine stands at the ready, madame."

"Already polishing up your French?" Max laughed, following her request to get in.

"Of course," Chloe replied, closing the door and casually walking around the hood of her car. On the other side she climbed into the driver's seat and remarked, "We´re gonna need it where we´re going."

"Chloe, none of us can speak a single word of French," Max replied, "We'll have to make do with English. And don't try to use words you don´t know the exact meaning of or you might end up insulting someone."

"God beware," Chloe murmured and made a deliberately scared expression on her face. Max laughed briefly and then said, "I'm serious. The French are proud people, Chloe. Especially the ones in Paris. Other question: do you have the tickets?"

"Oui, madame" Chloe said and Max twisted her eyes as her friend pulled out two slips of paper that she had kept in her jacket pocket like hallows. "Flight tickets are here; our bags are in the trunk. We are as ready as we can be, captain Maximus."

"And we certainly haven't forgotten anything?"

"Nope, not now and not the last ten times you asked. Everything´s there."

"I just wanna make sure."

"If you need tampons, you can have mine."

Max boxed Chloe's arm in outrageous amusement at the last remark before she shouted, "Alright, if we've got everything, we're ready to go. Set course for the airport, helmswoman Chloe."

"Aye-Aye captain," Chloe replied, saluting and turning the ignition key. Humming, the scrap-ready truck awoke to life and banged twice before Chloe released the clutch, pushed down the accelerator pedal and pulled into the road. Without any signalling, of course.

"Actually, I should go to old Wells and thank him," Chloe said after a while and Max turned toward her in surprise, "Why is that?"

"After all, it was him who granted you your semester abroad," Chloe explained, "If he hadn't, we wouldn't be flying to Paris. On the other hand... Maybe I shouldn't thank him after all. I´ve to come back after a week and then I won't see you for half a year."

"Four months," Max corrected her, "And I'll text you every day."

"Like last time?" Chloe asked and quickly added, "I'm just kidding. Did you say goodbye to Warren and Kate?"

"Who do you think I am?" Max replied, "Of course I did. I met Kate today after the fourth class and Warren yesterday."

"How's the good-for-nothing anyway?" Chloe asked impudently, "Still blue balls?"

"He has accepted that he won´t get with me," Max replied casually, "He has no chance against you. But I still think he'd be a great match for Kate."

"We discussed that," Chloe answered, while shaking her head, "Religion and science are opposing forces. Shit ain´t working."

"You don´t know that," Max insisted, "Actually I think they would complement each other perfectly. And Kate could really use a man in her life."

"A true man like Warren," Choe commented mockingly and in return got another blow on her arm.

* * *

Panting, Meg jogged along the country road, her head lowered, and all her attention focused on her body. It must have been a good four hours since she had left Burlington and a good three hours ago it was the last time that she had seen Chris´ back in front of her.

But she performed better than she had expected. Ellie was still running near her and two other athletes ran between the Latina and her brother, who was at the top. All the others had fallen far behind. The last time Meg had looked over her shoulder, she had only seen two other runners, both several hundred yards away.

She did well, no question, but her strength was starting to run out. Meg had always been good at managing her stamina, but never excellent. Her specialty had always been sprinting and after four hours of continuous running, every muscle in her body had begun to protest outrageously. Each breath brought a painful sting with it and no trace was left from the relaxation she had felt at the beginning. Hopefully she would reach her goal soon.

Meg briefly raised her head and peered out under her cap in search of landscape features by which she could orient herself. Surprised, she discovered that the roofs of Weeks had already appeared in the distance and the sight of the town gave her new strength. It was not far anymore. Although the sun mercilessly burned on her skin and her entire body was covered in sweat, she would soon have reached her goal. She would have done it without slowing down even once and more importantly, she would have finished the marathon as one of the first.

Ellie was now a little further ahead of her, about a hundred meters, but another runner had fallen behind and was now in danger of being overtaken by Meg. Why should she not try, Meg thought, channelling the last remnants of energy she could scrape together into her burning legs. At regular intervals her muscles stretched and relaxed, while her feet stomped over the dusty ground. With each step she was closing in on the man before her.

It took about five minutes until she caught up with him. After that they ran side by side and Meg was sure he had noticed her. However, the young man, who was apparently also nearing the end of his strength, did not seem to care at all. Panting heavily, he dragged himself forward and with a quick glance Meg noticed that his limbs were no longer swinging in the optimal rhythm to each other.

Her own legs burned like hell, but Meg kept running. A little while later she passed the first house and soon after turned into one of the four main streets. At the bottom end of the road she recognized a large banner that had been stretched across the street and proclaimed the word "finish" in large, black letters.

Meg almost laughed out in euphoric relief, but the marathon was not over until she had crossed that line and until that happened, she could not allow any other activity that might rip her out of her running rhythm. As soon as she lost her rhythm, she would stop running and never would she gather the willpower to go off again. The last meters were just a matter of the mind. Meg knew that, and she also knew that exceptional concentration was the best and only way to defeat one's own psyche.

With a large step she ran across the finish line and quickly slowed down. Finally, she allowed her legs to give way from exhaustion so that she fell to the ground. Panting heavily, she remained lying on her back and the sun right in her face. With her eyes closed, Meg shoved a fist into the air.

"YES!"

"Congratulations," someone huffed right above her and when she opened her eyes, Meg recognized Ellie, who had an aroused grin on her lips. Her face was reddened with exertion, her shirt completely soaked and she was still gasping for air. "I was beginning to think you were catching up with me."

"I... catch up... never," Meg gasped and tried to sit up. Ellie helpfully stretched out her hand just as Chris appeared next to her. He too was panting and exhausted by the marathon, but he was not nearly as weary as Meg. Hurriedly she got on her feet.

"I'm impressed," Chris said. "Few can keep up with me and my sister."

Meg would have loved to say something, but her pulse and side stitches nipped all her efforts in the bud. When Chris realized what was going on, he laughed briefly and patted her on the shoulder. Luckily, Meg´s face was already red from all the running.

"Hey, there´s Eric," Ellie noticed and looked at the home straight, where another athlete was approaching at some distance. Panting, the blonde young man ran across the finish line and then went to his knees in exhaustion. Chris laughed briefly and took a sip of water from a plastic bottle before offering Meg the drink. Thankfully she accepted and a moment later she felt the cool liquid run down her throat.

"Eric," Ellie called and waved, "Over here."

The boy looked up and as soon as he had discovered his colleagues, he rose and stumbled towards the small group. Ellie pushed a bottle of water in his hands, which he did not drink. Instead he poured half of the liquid down his back moaning, "This... damn... heat..."

Then he wiped the sweat off his forehead and took a deep sip from the bottle while Ellie pointed to Meg and said, "Eric, this is Meg."

The blonde athlete's gaze fell on the exhausted redhead, who raised her hand tiredly and grinned slightly embarrassed.

"She was faster than you," Ellie laughed and provocatively shoved her elbow into Eric´s side, "And she hasn't taken part in a marathon for years."

"Hi," Eric stammered, still gasping for air and trying to keep the sweat off his face. Then he pulled his eyebrows up and asked, "Don't I... know you... from somewhere?"

"She lives here in Weeks," Ellie commented, "Just like you. You've probably run into each other before."

Eric pondered for moment, before he visibly brightened up with an idea and asked, "Aren´t you the one who bought Coldwind Farm?"

Meg was a little surprised and nodded carefully. She had hoped not to be noticed among all the people as the suspicious girl from the Coldwind Farm, but fortunately the reactions turned out quite different than expected.

"You own the Coldwind Farm?" Ellie asked, turning her head, "Really?"

"I'm the registered owner," Meg replied and the Latina laughed, "How awesome is that!"

"It's a lot of work, too," Meg mumbled, embarrassed and relieved that her identity had been received so positively. It seemed that the young were more open-minded than the old. Eric drank another sip from his bottle and said, "There must be plenty of space out there. Hey, Ellie, wouldn't this be the perfect place for the party?"

"What party?" Meg wanted to know, but was completely overheard when Ellie shouted, "The party! I completely forgot about it! We didn't have enough room in the office for all the confirmations." She turned to Meg and put on a begging face, "Meg, listen. As a fitting conclusion to the marathon, we wanted to organize a celebration, but none of the towns would provide us with a location and there isn´t enough room back in the office either. We asked several farmers, but nobody allowed us on their land."

"Uptight hillbillies all of them," Eric grumbled and Chris confirmed his comment with a laugh.

"Anyway," Ellie continued to besiege the somewhat overwhelmed Meg, "We didn't know that you had a lot of land yourself. We can provide drinks, music and stuff, no problem. We just need a place where we don't bother anyone."

"I..." stammered Meg, "Wait a minute..."

"That would be so awesome," Ellie went on, "Please, Meg, you're our last hope."

With her mouth half open, Meg searched her head for excuses and already wanted to say something when a soft hand touched her shoulder. Surprised, she turned around.

"You ran like a champion," an older lady said. She wore a white, simple dress and had her dark hair tied back behind her head. On her nose was a pair of sunglasses, which Meg knew perfectly well, were only there to hide a single, orange glowing eye.

"Sa...," she already began, but then broke off and remembered their story, "Mother? What are you doing here? You were supposed to stay at home." She shot the Nurse a sharp look, which meant something along the lines of "Are you crazy?"

"I wanted to see you run," Sally replied and put on an innocent smile.

"What if the doctor finds out you were here?" Meg asked, pointing imperceptibly to the people around her. "Haven´t you listened to what he was telling you? You should stay at home."

"Oh, come on, don´t bother me with the doctor," Sally replied, "He´ll forgive me." Then she turned to the other athletes who had only been awkwardly standing by so far. "I see you finally made some acquaintances. You know, Meg´s caring so dearly about me, that she completely forgets to care for herself sometimes."

Meg looked down on her feet and would have loved to wrap her hands around Sally´s throat, when she heard the theatre, the Nurse was performing.

"But I´m sorry. I didn't want to interrupt your conversation," Sally continued, and Ellie immediately followed, "No, not at all. It's an honour to meet you, Ms. Thomas. My name is Ellie, these are Chris and Eric."

"Please, just call me Sally," the Nurse said with a smile.

"I was just asking your daughter if we could organize a little party at the Coldwind Farm," Ellie said, "We wanted to give the marathon a proper ending, but so far we weren´t able to find a location for tonight."

"I was just about to tell them..." Meg tried to answer, but Sally beat her to it, "That sounds like a wonderful idea. There´s not much room inside the house, but out front we have as much space as you´d like. If you´re fine with making this an outdoor event, that is."

"Really?" Ellie asked in surprise, "That's great. Eric, call Nina and Tobi. Tell them to reassemble, we have a location. Thank you very much, Ms. Thomas, honestly. I really appreciate it."

"Please, just call me Sally."

Meg interrupted the conversation by audibly clearing her throat said, "Mother, could I talk to you for a second?"

The two of them walked a little to the side and when Meg was sure they were out of earshot, she asked with a muffled voice, "Sally, what the fuck do you think you´re doing?"

"I wanted to see you run."

"Not that," Meg shouted energetically, "Well, that too. But you just invited a whole bunch of nosey teenagers to our farm. We wanted to keep people away, remember. We've got Max and Anna on the farm, for Christ´s sake."

"Meg, you've been alone with the three of us for almost two years now," Sally replied calmly, "I appreciate your care, but I think it's time for you to get back among people. And don't worry about Max or Anna, I'll tell them to go play in the woods for a night or something. Anna always wanted to take Max on a hunt with her."

Meg wasn't convinced.

"You'll have fun," Sally continued. "You deserve it."

Meg turned her eyes to the side and glanced over to Chris, Eric and Ellie. The former casually looked back in her direction and hurriedly Meg turned away again. "I just don't want us to get busted and everything to be ruined."

"It won't be," the Nurse replied, "Just think about it. The marathon was a good idea, wasn't it? I can tell you missed it."

Meg's face brightened a little and she answered, "You're right." Then she shook her head and shouted, "But we don't need a party on the farm."

"Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

Meg briefly struggled for words before stammering, "Yes, of course... I... but we should..."

"It´s settled then," Sally nodded, "You'll have fun, you'll see. Trust me."

Meg sighed, shaking her head and turning her eyes to the ground. For a moment she remained silent. Then she looked up again and mumbled, "All right. I hope you know what you're doing."

Sally did not answer, but a sharp smile shot over her lips. But when she wanted to turn back to the others, Meg held her back.

"Sally?"

"Huh?"

"I'm glad you came."

* * *

"You sure you took all the assault rifles, hand grenades and knives out of your bag?" Nea asked and gave Claudette a serious look, "I hear they really can´t take a joke, when it comes to security."

The Canadian lowered her eyes in resignation as she marched towards the security check at the airport, pulling a large suitcase behind her. Next to her was Dwight, who carried her hand luggage – a pink backpack – on his back and had his left hand firmly interlocked with her right.

"Oh, come on, that was funny," cried Nea, whereupon Dwight gave her a pitiful look. The Swedish woman pulled her eyebrows up and looked over her shoulder to Philip, hoping to at least get a laugh from him.

"I'm here," a voice whispered to her left and gave her a little start.

"I thought you were behind us," Nea gasped and looked around. Despite all the people who amalgamated at the airport to a dense crowd, Philip managed to sneak through the great hall unseen and unheard. Because of all the noise, the talking and the laughing, his footsteps could not be heard.

"There we are," Claudette noted, stopping in hesitation. Dwight also stopped and handed her the backpack that he had carried to the terminal for her. Claudette looked at the pink bag for a moment, then placed it next to her suitcase and pulled Dwight into a fervent embrace. He almost fell over, but fortunately the Canadian was a good deal smaller than him, so that her momentum could hardly disrupt his balance.

"I'll miss you," Claudette whispered.

"I´ll miss you too," came the answer.

"I'll call you as soon as I get there."

"I'll wait."

Standing on her tiptoes, Claudette gave him an ardent kiss and the two conveyed all those things that words could not express. Then, after a moment far too short, they separated again and the Canadian went over to the security check. Nea had already lifted her luggage onto the conveyor belt of the X-ray machine and, passing by, the Swedish woman shouted, "Say hello to the Eiffel Tower for me."

"Absolutely," Claudette laughed and moved through the large metal detector, always under the grim gaze of a muscular security officer. With a bored nod he waved her through. Once Claudette had reached the other side, she took up her baggage again, looked over her shoulder once more, waved at Nea, blew a kiss at Dwight and finally disappeared between the other travellers. Sighing, Dwight lowered his head and Nea immediately tried to cheer him up.

"Come on now, you'll see her again in a few months," the Swede said and elbowed Dwight in the side, "And don´t you get jealous or something, that she´ll catch herself a hot Frenchman. Claudette is the most loyal person I´ve ever known."

Dwight felt Philip's hand on his shoulder, which worked infinitely better than Nea´s awkward attempts of encouragement.

"Somehow it feels like I´ve seen her for the last time," Dwight sighed, "There was another attack in Europe just last week."

"Don't get paranoid now," Nea replied, "Surely you've heard that they founded this special counterterrorism unit. What was it called again?"

"Team Rainbow"

"Exactly. And it´s not like Europe´s descending into chaos, just because of a few terrorist attacks." Nea nodded her head, "With your weapon laws it is probably safer over there than here in the US. Claudette's a smart girl, she knows how to take care of herself."

"If you say so," Dwight murmured as he felt Philip's grip on his shoulder increase in intensity. Nevertheless, there was no way the two of them could rid him of his worries.


	3. Undercover

**Undercover**

"For having such good food in France," Tachanka commented, "they feed their soldiers terribly."

Fuze, who had just loaded his breakfast onto a tray, muttered in Russian, "You know how it works, the worse the food, the better the army".

"I always knew we were the best," Tachanka laughed, "But the French don't seem to be bad either."

"Not as good as the English," Fuze commented, then picked up his tray. Tachanka nodded and thoughtfully said, "We've come a long way, we two."

"Ever since we've been in Team Rainbow," Fuze confirmed and made his way to the dining room, "But I can't complain. After all, I used to just sit around in some barracks in Siberia. Now we´re being transferred to a new base every few months or so."

"I think this time we´ll stay here a little longer," Tachanka smiled, "This base is pretty much the centre of western Europe. Wherever we´re needed, we can be there in no time. It´s also ideal for setting up practice scenarios, don´t you think?"

"Fuck of with the practice scenario", Fuze cursed and the old Spetsnaz laughed out loud. Immediately afterwards the two entered the dining room of the base, which in peacetime worked far below capacity. The room was filled barely to a quarter. About thirty French soldiers sat at different tables all over the hall. In addition, there were some Rainbow operators, among them Caveira, who was sitting completely alone in a corner, focusing on her breakfast. The Brazilian woman was a loner, an excellent soldier and an introvert person.

On the other side Fuze spotted Dokkaebi and Siu "Ying" Mei Lin, an operator from Hong Kong. Some time ago Ying and Fuze had had a quite heated dispute, which could only be resolved by the intervention of Eliza "Ash" Cohen. The subject of the argument was Fuze's alleged disregard for civilian losses and Six had been careful to assign the two operators to the same team ever since.

Fuze saw himself as an honourable man, with strict moral convictions. He would do anything to defend his country, his comrades and his fellow citizens. Even if it meant that sacrifices had to be made. Ying had not reacted well to some of his comments and since then Fuze had hardly exchanged a word with her.

Just as he turned left and headed for a free table, Tachanka cut him off. With a slight nod, the old Russian - who had already been a commanding officer in the Red Army - signalled at which table they would sit down, sighing Fuze turned around again.

Tachanka was right. Team Rainbow relied on the cohesion of its operators. Without comradeship, there could be no victory. A little reluctant, Fuze dropped onto the bench opposite Dokkaebi, while Tachanka was much happier to place himself in front of Ying.

"Good morning, ladies", the old solider greeted, and the two Asians looked up in surprise. They probably had not expected the Russians to join them. Ying nodded hospitably and replied, "Good morning to you too, Alexandr."

She looked over at Fuze.

"Shuhrat"

Fuze nodded to her but did not say a word. In the meantime, Dokkaebi lowered her eyes to her food again, while Ying turned back to Tachanka.

"I just heard that you performed quite well during the exercise yesterday. Cowden put you in charge?"

"Right," Tachanka laughed and took a quick look at Dokkaebi, "I see you´ve got first-hand information. But it was a tight affair and we were lucky in our defence."

"So I´ve heard," Ying replied, "Was it really such a disaster as Grace claims?"

"No way," Tachanka waved off, "Taina took her and Shuhrat by surprise. Maybe they could have done some things different, but you know how it is. And after all, Taina´s the best in the world in what she does. There´s no shame in losing to her every now and then."

Ying looked over Tachanka's shoulder to the Brazilian operator, who was still focused completely on her breakfast and apparently paid no attention to her surroundings. But Ying knew the truth. Caveira had grown up in the slums of Rio de Janeiro and saying that they were a dangerous place – especially for little girls – was more than just an understatement. One was either devoured or developed a paranoid distrust of everything and everyone. With Caveira, the latter had been the case.

"You're right," Ying replied and turned her attention back to Dokkaebi, "Don't worry if you got a bloody nose in your first practice scenario with Team Rainbow. We're the best of the best, and you're here because you´re too."

Fuze raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He kept his eyes down on his breakfast, while Ying continued, "As it turns out, even the more experienced members are not always ready for Caveira´s trickery."

Before the remark, which was obviously aimed at Fuze, could spark a dispute, Tachanka jumped in between and changed the subject, "By the way, how was Hong Kong, Siu? After all this time in active duty, being home for a few weeks must have been wonderful."

"Honestly," Ying shook her head, "It was... horrible. No, it wasn't, but... Not that my family didn't give me a warm welcome… But they just kept worrying about me, especially my mother. And somehow, I felt drawn back into the field. The thought of something happening while I wasn´t there to help just didn´t leave my head."

"Worried that we wouldn't be able to take care of things without you?", Tachanka laughed, "But I know what you mean. This job swallows you up whole and when you finally get to go home for a few days, it feels like you're abandoning your team."

Ying nodded.

"Let me give you the same advice I gave Monika last week", Tachanka continued, "Remember who you are. You're more than just a soldier, just a tool of war. Of course, you have duties towards us and I'm glad that you take them so seriously. But still, you can't neglect yourself. Even if we spend our whole lives in uniform, in the end, we are still human beings."

"Wise words," Fuze mumbled, but Dokkaebi replied, "Back in Seoul they always emphasized that we should devote our entire life to the army. Everything else comes second."

"And who told you that?" Tachanka asked, "The defence ministers and generals who never went into battle themselves? They see you as a tool, not a person, Grace. We're doing this job out of conviction, not because someone told us so. At least that's how I see it. You're willing to give your life for others, Grace, so I think you have the right to enjoy the time you´ve got, before one day you actually might have to make the sacrifice."

"That sounds a lot like instigation to insubordination," Ying commented with some amusement, but Tachanka just shook his head, "I'm just passing on the experiences of an old soldier to his successor."

Fuze already wanted to add something when the door to the dining room flew open and Thatcher marched in. He was dressed in full combat gear and after a brief look around marched towards Caveira.

"Taina! I need you at the helipad in thirty minutes! Pack your combat gear"

The Brazilian woman got up immediately and hurriedly left the dining room, leaving her half-eaten breakfast on the table.

"What happened?" Tachanka shouted and was already getting up, but Thatcher waved him to sit back down again

"No emergency. Capitao called from Rio de Janeiro. Apparently, BOPE tracked down a base of white masks. Six has put together a team to take care of the situation."

Immediately all four operators got on their feet, but Thatcher shook his head.

"You four stay here on standby. I don't know exactly what´s going on yet, but I think our downtime´s over. Something seems to be brewing up. All inactive operators were alerted and recalled into active service immediately. All vacations have been cancelled."

With these words the Brit turned around and followed Caveira out of the dining room. Fuze, Tachanka and Dokkaebi sat back down again, while Ying kept standing for a moment. Finally, she turned her head toward the young Korean and said, "It seems I got back at just the right time."

* * *

"Solid ground again, thank god!", Chloe wheezed as she climbed down the steep metal stairs and jumped onto the hard asphalt at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. Max followed her much more relaxed and replied, "Don't forget, you still have to fly back."

"I know," Chloe murmured, "Fuck!"

"You're a scaredy-cat," Max teased her, following a couple of tourists who had already made their way toward the terminals. Chloe took a last look back at the plane before she caught up with Max and said, "If I'd known what that felt like, I´d never have boarded that cursed thing."

"That's not true," Max replied and looked at Chloe suspiciously.

"Okay, it´s not, but I´d have pondered over it for at least a month," the blue-haired girl murmured, "I´m really jealous of you. How can you stay so calm?"

"Believe me, my first time flying I was far more anxious", Max said, "But the second time it's much easier. And if not, you'll just have to find someone else whose hand you can squeeze to a pulp at every turbulence."

"Very funny," Chloe murmured, "So, any idea where we need to go?"

"To passport control," Max replied, "And then pick up our luggage"

"Damn, you´re sure? I think I left my ID in the suitcase."

"You gotta be joking..." Max mumbled and raised her eyebrows, while Chloe was searching through her jacket and trouser pockets, "fuck... wait... Ah, no, here it is."

Grinning, she pulled out the document on which she was still depicted with brown hair.

"I hope they recognize me."

"Beauty can't be hidden, even behind blue hair."

"Thank you," Chloe replied, but then frowned, "Wait, was that a compliment?"

"That's up for you to decide," Max grinned and opened the door to the huge main building of the airport. On her right she could already see a vehicle loaded with suitcases driving by. Hopefully they would not have to wait too long for their own luggage, she thought and entered the central building complex.

"Max!" Chloe shouted, and Max turned around in alarm. Her girlfriend was still standing on the tarmac in front of the door, staring in amazement at the ground.

"What's the matter?" Max asked. Chloe looked at her and answered euphorically, "We're in Paris!"

"I know," Max said, but it was not until that moment that Chloe seemed to realize where exactly on the planet´s surface she was standing. The widest grin Max had ever seen dashed over the blue-haired girl's face and Max could not resist to smile back at her. Chloe's joy was just too contagious.

"That's just so amazing," she shouted and jumped over the doorstep, "We´re really here now. Like… Do you remember the glass in our kitchen? The one with all the money?"

"How could I forget?"

"I wish we could have taken mom with us."

"For that you would have to save money for another decade," Max laughed, "Even with David as co-earner. Speaking of which, would you have tolerated him on this journey? I mean if he and your mom accompanied us?"

"Maybe" Chloe thought aloud, "But only because he would make mom happy."

"You two are getting along better every day", Max remarked, earning a surprised look.

"We do? Really?"

"You haven't called him a step-führer in two months," Max explained.

"True," Chloe admitted, "I guess everything you told me about him, how he saved you... it might have changed my picture of him a little." She now walked casually, almost thoughtfully next to Max. "Besides, I think I used to look for confrontation because I was... you know... alone."

"We're in Paris for ten minutes tops and you're already getting sentimental," Max laughed, but then became serious again, "I understand you more than you think. The first year in Seattle, after I moved away from you, I too started to rebel against my parents. But I already told you that."

"Well, if that´s what you call rebelling."

"Of course it is, I just never made it to your level."

The two now reached the border control and would officially enter French soil in a few minutes. Hurriedly they pulled out their IDs and stood in the rapidly advancing rows that led toward two small guard houses in the middle of a long corridor. As Max approached the checkpoint, she saw several grim-looking police officers in full combat gear, their bodies protected by bulletproof vests, and their faces hidden behind black balaclavas. GIGN was written in white letters on their uniforms, identifying them as members of the Groupe D´Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale, a counterterrorism unit.

"Wow, those guys look angry," Chloe commented impudently when she looked at the officers, "Did something happen?"

"I don't know," Max replied, "I hope not."

One of the policemen gave her a stern look as she moved past the checkpoint. They all held black submachine guns in their hands, ready to take aim at any target in a matter of seconds.

"Identity card", the border officer demanded with a bored voice and a strong French accent. Max handed him the document, after which he briefly glanced at it, pressed a stamp on it and gave it back to her. Chloe was treated no different and both felt quite uncomfortable under the strict eyes of the policemen. But after that, they had finally arrived at their destination. Now they only needed to get their suitcases.

"Look," Chloe shouted as Max looked around for the baggage claim. Hurriedly she turned her head and followed her friend's gaze out of a large window to the capital of France. There, in the distance, she could see the tip of a large metal construction that stood out sharply against the rising sun.

"The Eiffel Tower," Chloe exclaimed in amazed delight, "Max that´s the Eiffel Tower over there."

"I can see it," Max replied, enjoying her best friend´s happiness to the fullest. Chloe had been through a lot in her life. The death of her father, Max moving away, her suspension from Blackwell and the kidnapping and murder of Rachel had dealt her one heavy blow after another. Hopefully these times were finally over. Max almost wished Joyce was here. It would have opened her heart to see her daughter like this.

But she could!

Max dug into her bag, which she had carried as hand luggage in the plane, and after a moment found the item she was looking for. With a nimble hand movement, she pulled out her good old polaroid camera, aimed with the usual precision and pressed the shutter button a second later. When Chloe noticed the flash, she turned around in surprise, but the photo had already been taken. Max pulled the picture out of the camera and waved it through the air a few times before taking a look.

Chloe was right in the middle, her hands pressed against the pane and her gaze flying over the city toward the grey tower. The rising sun threw orange rays through the slightly foggy morning and provided the picture with a touch of mysticism.

"Nice shot?" Chloe asked and quickly came over to Max. When she looked at the photo, she shoved a hand in the air and said, "Maxter always ready to frame the shot. That´s my girl. By the end of the week, your finger will be sore from pushing the shutter all the time, let me tell you that."

Without asking, she ripped the camera from Max's hand.

"But don't think you can stay out of the line of fire."

Laughing, Chloe lifted the device up and pointed the lens at herself and Max, who could only look into the camera and grin. A quick lightning dazzled the two girls for a moment before they held a mediocre selfie in their hands.

"Wonderful," Chloe marvelled.

"Average", Max replied and then looked around again for the baggage claim area. Chloe was not much help with that. Her attention was drawn to Paris, the city of her dreams. Finally, Max managed to find her and Chloe's suitcase anyway and together they made their way outside.

Before they could finally dive into Paris, however, they needed money. After all, American dollars would not get them far in the middle of the euro zone. At one of the many booths, Max exchanged several green dollars for some colourful euro notes, which Chloe immediately referred to as play money.

"Just look at those things," she laughed, "Were they painted in a kindergarten or what? Come on, give me one."

"Actually, I think they´re pretty nice," Max replied and handed her an orange fifty euro bill, "I kinda like the architecture. It´s definitely better than looking at Washington's curvy nose every day."

"How much is on of those worth?"

"About sixty dollars I think."

"They're worth more than our money?" Chloe asked, "Wasn´t Europe in something like a crisis?"

"It's been a few years," Max explained, "and it´s not like the US hasn´t made its own blunders recently. Moreover, the EU is still the largest economic actor in the world."

"Whatever," Chloe replied and returned to fifty euro note to Max, who let it disappear into her wallet. A few minutes later they finally left the airport. The street in front of the gigantic complex was teeming with buses, cars and fortunately a whole lot of taxis waiting for passengers.

"Alright, where do we go first?", Chloe asked with that mischievous glow in her eyes, Max only knew all to well. Slowing her down in her excitement she walked toward one of the vehicles and answered, "First we go to my flat and get rid of our suitcases. Aren't you tired from the flight?"

"´course I am," Chloe replied, "but we're in Paris, baby. I don't have time to be tired right now."

"What I´d give for your energy," Max murmured and opened the door to one of the taxis. The driver turned around slightly surprised but seemed to be happy about the cutsomers. With a broad grin, the African invited his passengers in and asked a quick question in French.

"I'm sorry, we only speak English," Max replied, already a little embarrassed, whereupon the driver repeated the question.

"Ah, no problem mademoiselle. I just wanted to know where you want to go"

Max gave him the address of the flat she would share with another student for this semester and climbed on the backseat. Chloe followed her and as soon as she was comfortable, she bowed forward toward the driver's seat.

"Hey, what's up?"

The Frenchman briefly looked in the rear-view mirror and put on an amused grin.

"You're Americans, aren't you?" he wanted to know while he started the engine and steered into the traffic. Chloe gave him a thumb up through the rear-view mirror and shouted, "Bingo."

"Is it so obvious?" Max asked and the driver replied, "Yes. But as a taxi driver you recognize every nationality within seconds."

"Hey, are we Americans really as bad as everyone says?" Chloe asked and clung her hands to the front seat.

"Oh non, mademoiselle", the Frenchman replied, "The worst are the Italians. They're always so loud, they never thank you. You Americans are all right."

"Really?" Chloe asked and sounded almost disappointed that the tourists of the United States apparently did not live up to their reputation.

"Oui," the driver laughed, while Max rolled her eyes on Chloe's impudent question, "How long are you going to stay in Paris?"

"One week," Chloe replied, "At least I will. She'll be spending the rest of the year here with you."

"I'm doing a semester abroad," Max explained to the driver, who nodded approvingly and said, "So no tourists. You're here to study, I think that's very good. I am always happy when young people are educating themselves and get to know the world at the same time. That helps peace, if you ask me."

"Peace? How?" Choe wondered.

"Quite simple," the driver laughed, "How can you have an aversion to people among whom you have lived for months? Believe me, if every person had to live completely alone in another country for one year, there would be far less racism and hatred in the world."

"It's not that simple," Max replied, while Chloe pulled her eyebrows up with interest, "But I understand your train of thought."

"If I may ask, what are you studying?" the taxi driver wanted to know next and Max replied, "Photography"

"An artist," the Frenchman said. "Then you came to the right place."

The conversation dragged on for a while as the taxi drove deeper and deeper into the centre of Paris. The morning rush hour was not completely over yet and again and again they had stop in various little traffic jams. Chloe had a lively conversation with the man and asked him about all the sights, but also the bars and clubs that Paris had to offer. The man was pleased to answer all her questions until he finally dropped them off at the destination. Max pushed a few Euro notes into his hand, told him to keep the change and then turned to Chloe, who was already looking at the big house that would serve Max as home.

"Wow, what a palace" Chloe mocked. The building she spoke of had to be one of the most run-down shacks in all of Paris. The dirty walls barely showed the colour anymore in which they were originally painted, and the metal rain gutter at the corner of the house looked like it would break out of its supports at any moment. The entrance door made an old, yet at least solid impression.

Max walked over, opened the door and marched straight towards the reception of the dilapidated dormitory. She was greeted by an old Frenchwoman with snow-white hair who hardly understood a word of English. Max used her hands and feet to communicate who she was and what she wanted, whereupon the woman handed her a key and pointed to a half mouldy stairwell.

"Second floor, flat twenty-three," the old woman croaked. Max mumbled quick thanks and followed Chloe, who was already on her way to the first floor. There was no elevator, so they had to drag their suitcases all the way over the stairs.

"Listen," Max said once they reached the second floor, "I think the lady downstairs told me my roommate was already here. We need to politely ask him if he's okay with you sleeping in my room for the week. If not, you'll have to find a hotel. Please don't make a fuss, okay?"

"Me, making a fuss?" Chloe complained and lifted her heavy suitcase up to the third floor. At the top of the stairs she turned to the left, while Max looked to the right and discovered her door at the end of the corridor.

"There," she said, and Chloe turned around. Together they walked to the door, Max pulled out her key and with some effort put it into the lock, where it could hardly be turned. A moment later she managed it anyway and with an unbearable squeak the door swung opened.

Max entered her new home with curiosity and was pleased to realize that the apartment itself did not necessarily reflect the exterior of the house. It was far from being a five-star suite, but it was clean and tidy. The walls were relatively freshly painted, the furniture not too old and the floor free of dust. In the middle of the room, which apparently served as living room and kitchen at the same time, there was a round table and on one of four chairs sat a young woman with dark skin and black dreadlocks. When Max and Chloe entered, she looked up in surprise and put her phone aside.

"Hello", Max greeted, "I am your roommate for this semester. My name is Max. This is Chloe."

Chloe casually raised her hand and the dark-skinned girl stood up shyly.

"Hi," she said, "I'm Claudette."

* * *

"Capitao"

"Thatcher.

The two operators shook hands while the rest of the team behind the Brit got out of the transport plane. The man Thatcher had just called Capitao was Vicente Souza, a high-ranking member of the Brazilian counterterrorist unit BOPE and, for some time now, also of Team Rainbow. He was a reliable and sincere man, a hard fighter and an intelligent strategist. In contrast to the hot-blooded Caveira, Capitao was far more thoughtful, experienced and circumspect, but this did not mean that he lacked initiative.

"So, you´ve discovered a hideout?" Thatcher asked and got right to the point. An approach that both he and Capitao preferred.

"Exactly," the Brazilian confirmed, "BOPE has recently been placing more undercover agents in the favelas and stumbled over what seemed to be a recruitment program."

"A recruitment program?"

"The local cartels apparently refer people to a paramilitary organization called Mascara Blanca."

"White Mask.

"Exactly. They advertise that they want to overthrow the unjust world order in a great war and build a new system from the bottom up. Of course, in the favelas, such an agenda is bound to find a lot of supporters. On top of having excellent connections to the cartels, those bastards appear to heavily armed as well. I'm talking about tanks, Thatcher."

"Tanks?" Thatcher asked in surprise, "How do you know?"

"It's one of the positions they´re offering people. Tank drivers, snipers, storm troopers... they´re looking for all kind of folks. And I don't think they would be looking for such people if they didn't have the equipment for them."

"Unlikely," Thatcher confirmed, "Mascara Blanca, of course, points to the White Masks, but don't forget, they got that name from the press. We don't actually know what they call themselves."

"It's the name by which potential recruits know them," Capitao replied, "Even if it's just a partisan group planning a coup in Bolivia or any other state, it's still a good reason for Team Rainbow to intervene. BOPE can really use our support."

"You're right," Thatcher replied, "I brought Caveira with me. Her experience in the favelas may prove useful."

"It surely will."

"Besides her, I got Blitz, Glaz, Buck and Ela."

"A powerful force," Capitao nodded, "The White Masks don't know we're coming. I'm hoping for a quick and clean operation."

"Operations like this might be quick," Thatcher replied, "but they´re never clean."

The two of them left the airfield and shortly afterwards found themselves in a meeting room in the centre of Rio de Janeiro. Of course, the air-conditioning was completely inadequate. The GSG9 operator Elias "Blitz" Kötz leaned against the wall, right next to Ela, who chewed on a chewing gum, listening comfortably but attentively. In the middle of the room was a table with Buck leaned over it. Beside him stood Timur "Glaz" Glazkov, the best sniper in the Spetsnaz, Team Rainbow and probably the whole world. Both had lowered their gaze to the table top onto a wealth of ground plans and aerial photographs, all from a particular area in the favelas.

"This is without doubt their headquarters," Capitao explained, pointing to a large complex, "From here they act, here they bring their recruits. That's our objective."

"What's the plan?" Glaz wanted to know and looked back and forth between the pictures and Capitao. The old Brazilian scratched his beard and replied, "BOPE wants to kick in the front door in a raid operation this night and shoot everything that moves."

Caveira, sitting in a corner of an armchair, apparently apathetic, laughed quietly into herself as Thatcher frowned and said, "Well, I´ve surely heard better plans during my career. Any alternatives?"

"I was able to convince them not to do anything until you arrived. That´s why we´re here. They expect us to put together a better plan. If we don´t, it´s gonna be the usual procedure."

Thatcher shook his head and Glaz muttered something incomprehensible in Russian. It was clear to all of them that this mission was an opportunity. Perhaps documents, names or even individuals could be secured that would subsequently help Team Rainbow excavate the entire White Mask network. Hasty action would endanger these opportunities, could allow important persons to escape or commit suicide, not to mention the risk of running straight into an ambush.

"These roofs are too hard to overlook," Glaz murmured, "It will be difficult to get a clear line of sight over a long distance. I need to get close."

"Most of the walls in the favelas are thin and brittle," Buck remarked. "We could use that to our advantage."

"BOPE might have a point after all," Ela commented, "If we get some reconnaissance beforehand, we could rush in and achieve a quick success."

"You can forget about reconnaissance," Blitz threw in, "Half the population is in cahoots with them. If we start observing the building, they´re gonna notice."

"If only we had someone inside..." Thatcher thought, and almost simultaneously all heads turned towards Caveira.

* * *

"This jet lag is brutal," Chloe complained and leaned, her jaw opened into a long yawn. She was sitting on a rickety chair in front of a Parisian café, opposite Max and to the left of Claudette. She was the one Max would share the apartment with for the duration of the semester.

The Canadian was a quiet person, who did not say much, but listened attentively. Chloe liked her and not only because she immediately had agreed to Chloe sleeping in the flat for a week. After they had arrived in the apartment this morning, Chloe had naturally been eager to visit the city. Claudette, who had only arrived recently as well, had insisted that she did not want to disturb the two of them. Only after some good persuasion could Chloe and Max convince her to tag along. It quickly turned out, that she was incredibly lovely, even if silent, company.

"You should have slept on the plane," Max replied shrugging her shoulders and sipping her cocoa, "Wow, they actually do taste better in Europe."

"Really? Let me try."

Chloe took the drink from Max's hand and took a sip before she thought for a moment

"Maybe a little"

She turned her gaze to the Eiffel Tower, which rose out of the ground and high into the blue sky just a few hundred metres away. Half an hour ago, they had been standing on the top and gazed into the distance. Fortunately, there had been an elevator, Chloe thought, but even if there had not, the view would have been worth the climb.

"Now that we've seen it," Chloe asked, "What are we visiting next?"

"God, you can't be stopped, can you?" Max replied. "I thought you were tired."

"So, what? ´ve only got one week. It's a big city." Chloe banged her hands on the table a few times and then turned to Claudette, "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yes´, what do you think?"

"I'm fine with everything," the Canadian replied shyly.

"Do you think we still have time for the Louvre?" Chloe asked and looked over her shoulder as if she was already looking for the high glass pyramid. Claudette looked at her wristwatch and muttered, "Maybe. I don't know exactly when they´re closing."

"You know, we could also save the Louvre for tomorrow", Max interfered and put her now emptied cup on the round table. The setting sun shone straight into her face.

"Ah, I see," Chloe replied stealthily, "Enough culture for today. Party's on."

"Party?" Max asked and raised her eyebrows. But Chloe was already in full swing.

"Nightlife, baby. Tonight, the three of us are gonna make this city's clubs unsafe. All we need is a lotta booze and..."

"I'm not sure if I want to start my semester abroad with a blackout," Max interrupted.

"Why not?" Chloe replied, "Well, then at least a bar. Just a few little drinks. Maybe a hot Frenchman... Right Claudette?"

"Sorry," the Canadian murmured, suddenly smiling, "I already have someone at home."

"No shit?" Chloe propped herself up on her elbows. "Lucky you. But you'll accompany us, won't you?"

Claudette shot an insecure glance at Max, who immediately interpreted her gaze and turned back to Chloe.

"I think we'd both rather end the day on a little calmer note."

For a moment Chloe looked back and forth between her two companions before finally giving up and throwing her hands in the air.

"All right. Fine then. I guess I´ll leave the rudder to you."

"Why don't we make ourselves comfortable in the apartment?", Max suggested, "On the way we could shop for some groceries and prepare ourselves a nice dinner?"

"I think that's a great idea," Claudette immediately agreed. "But I should warn you. My cooking is... well, let´s just say it´s a little underwhelming."

"Don't worry," Chloe laughed and gave Max a telling look, "I know some amazing recipes from my mother."

* * *

Vigilantly Caveira moved through the ornate alleys of the favelas, finding her way between temporary dwellings and climbing up brittle stairs. The sun had already set against the horizon and bathed the metropolis in an orange light. Even here one could still hear the noise of the rich elite racing through the city in their noble sports cars or relaxing on the Copacabana from a hard day in the office.

The favelas were hardly able to drown out the sounds of the city, but they were far from silent either. The screeching of crying children sounded from the dark huts, somewhere a football match took place and on a dilapidated balcony a cheap radio played a sluggish melody through a veil of static noise.

Caveira was familiar with this environment. It was her home. She had spent her childhood in these filthy holes, struggling every day to get at least one meal in her stomach, all the while avoiding the bands of thugs and criminals.

The undisputed rulers of the favelas were the cartels, which made millions by trading drugs and weapons. One would think that they would put at least a small part of their money into the development of the districts that had given them all their wealth and influence. But they did nothing. The cartels were just as merciless, corrupt, ungrateful and indifferent as the wealthy global society.

Caveira looked down a narrow alleyway and discovered two children carrying a heavy bucket of water between them. One was just five years old. She looked sick and there was no sure way of telling, if she would make it over the next year.

The Rainbow operator continued, shaking her head. In dirty clothes, without the BOPE badges and her war paint she hardly differed from the true inhabitants of the favelas.

Caveira's goal was the shady building complex identified by BOPE as the headquarters of the Mascara Blanca. She was to sneak in, hire as a recruit under false name, gather information and if possible secure critical documents. In a few days she would tell her comrades how and where to strike, but for the moment both Team Rainbow and BOPE remained on standby.

A few minutes later, Caveira reached a thick metal door. Its strength and impenetrability hardly matched the usual structures in the favelas. Twice she hammered against the door and then waited for an answer with her arms raised to her hips. She had already slipped into the role that she would assume for the duration of the mission. Just like an actress.

It was the role of a fourth daughter who had lost several brothers and sisters to violent assaults by BOPE, whose family could no longer provide for her, and who now wanted to place her fate in the hands of those men who promised to change the situation. Mascara Blanca. The story was tragic, yes, but sadly nothing out of the ordinary. So Caveira hoped that the recruiters would not suspect anything.

A small slit was opened in the door and a pair of piercing eyes appeared. For a moment they looked at the woman who had built herself up demandingly on the dirty street. Then a voice asked in fast Portuguese, "What do you want?

"to get inside," Caveira replied with a deliberately fragile façade of confidence. She had to let them think, that she had never done something like this before.

"And who do you think you are?" the voice wanted to know.

"Raquel Alves," Taina Pereira answered, "I heard you equip fighters. I want to fight."

"You want to fight?" the voice asked in disbelief. The man behind the door briefly burst out laughing and then said, "You're crazy is what you are. And nothing else. Go home, girl."

"Mauricio sent me," Caveira stated without moving. It was the name of a cartel boss she knew was still active to this day. However, she did not know whether the Mascara Blanca was cooperating with him. It was a risk to mention his name, but Caveira was ready to take it.

"He said you were looking for fighters. Is that true?" she demanded to know and without waiting for an answer she continued, "I want to fight. He told me to come here. Let me in."

The eyes behind the slit observed her for a short moment. Caveira maintained eye contact the whole time but showing some insecurity at the same time. She wanted to give the impression as if she did not really know what she was doing, as if she was acting out of impulse or grief. It was these very people that such organizations fished for and Caveira would give them exactly what they wanted.

A moment later, the flap of the observation slit was slammed shut, but it was not long before Caveira heard the metal click of a lock. Her little ruse had worked, and before the door opened, the BOPE agent allowed herself a slight smile. Mauricio was a well-known name and nobody wanted to get in his way. Not even the White Masks, assuming it really was them running this operation.

A dirty, forty-year-old man, smelling of alcohol, opened the door for her and then stepped aside. His burning gaze followed her every step of the way as she entered the stuffy building. It smelled of cigarettes, of sweat and of gunpowder. The ramshackle walls had been built of brittle bricks and the only source of light was a flickering light bulb on the ceiling. Caveira was in a place of violence, she knew that. But it was by no means her first time.

"Who's your boss?" Caveira asked challengingly. The man who had just opened the door for her did not answer, but called out along one of the corridors, "Pedro. Get over here."

A moment later, a boy of about seventeen with black hair and dark skin appeared. On his head he wore a dirty cap, his feet were clad by worn out, holey shoes and his body was dressed in long training trousers and an FC Barcelona t-shirt. Caveira immediately realized that she had a victim of the favelas in front of her. It was a boy who had no future, who had grown up on the streets and been treated as scum all his life.

"Where is your fucking weapon?" the doorman barked and cursed in incomprehensible Portuguese, "How many times have I told you to never leave it alone? You're a fucking idiot."

The boy made a frightened face and hurried back the way he had just come. A little later he reappeared with an AK-47 in his hands.

"That's right, you idiot," the man growled, "Bring this bitch to Jorge. Mauricio sent her."

"Yes, Papa," the boy, who was called Pedro, mumbled and signalled Caveira to follow him. As a former street kid herself, she knew of the hopelessness of his situation and Caveira experienced one of the few moments in her life when she felt sincere compassion.

But she could not reveal it. Cold and rejecting, she followed the boy through the labyrinthine building, marching along narrow corridors and past smoky rooms. In one of the cells she discovered a roughly constructed wooden chair with shackles. Dried blood testified to the atrocities committed in this room.

"Here" the boy mumbled and pointed at a wooden door. Apparently, he did not want to continue, which is why Caveira suspected that Jorge was an unpleasant man. But she would come to terms with him. With a hiss she told the boy that he was no longer needed and then knocked against the door three times.

A muffled voice called, "come in" and Caveira opened the door to enter. It was even more stuffy than the rest of the building, the smoke of cigars hung in the air and behind a wide desk Caveira discovered a fat man. He was dressed in a green military jacket, wore a grey moustache, and was reading some documents before casually looking up.

"Who do we have here?" he asked when he saw Caveira standing in the doorway. A smile drove over his bulging lips as Caveira´s gaze drove to the two muscular bodyguards, standing behind him at the wall.

"Are you Jorge?" Caveira asked. The man just looked at her for a moment and then laughed.

"Now who do you think you are, storming into my office like that and asking such questions?"

"My name is Raquel Alves," Caveira lied, "I'm looking for the Mascara Blanca."

"The Mascara Blanca," the fat man asked, raising his eyebrows, "Why?"

"I want to fight," Caveira said. The guy, who was probably Jorge, stood up and walked around his desk.

"You want to fight?" he repeated slowly and looked down on her. His gaze was scanning her body and apparently, he was already trying to decide whether to take her in or not. After all he his soldiers to be physically capable.

"Yes," Caveira replied, "Four days ago the BOPE pigs killed half my family. Mauricio told me you could give me a gun and turn me against my enemy. Can you do that?"

"We can," Jorge replied, "you're a strong girl."

His hand landed slapping on Caveira's bottom, but she made no effort to push him away. Instead, she shot him a deadly look and hissed, "back off."

Jorge burst into wild laughter and stroked back his sweaty hair as he shouted, "You're mine, girl, I can do whatever the fuck I want with you."

"Not yet"

"Oh, but I do," the fat man said confidently, "You see, the moment you walked through that door over there, you became my property. If I want to, I can have my men pin you down on this desk right here while I have my sweet ways with you. And after I´m done each of them is getting his turn. I think you've made a mistake, Namorada."

Caveira knew full well that he was trying to intimidate her. The man's job was to search for recruits, naturally he wanted to make sure that they met certain standards and weren´t scared to easily. Nevertheless, she had no patience for the whole farce and replied, "If you need a whore, go to the favelas. I'm sure you'll find enough bitches there to suck your puny dick."

Jorge looked at her in amazement and Caveira returned his gaze. Challenge was reflected in her eyes and it took a moment before the fat man broke out laughing again, "Damn, girl, I like you. You´ve got more balls down in your pants than half the assholes you'd usually find around here. Too bad..."

He leaned against the front of his desk and reached into his jacket.

"What's too bad?" Caveira wanted to know and Jorge calmly pulled out a gun.

"Too bad we don't take in BOPE agents."

The barrel was suddenly aimed directly between Caveira's eyes and before she could do anything, someone had already pulled a thick cloth bag over her head.

* * *

Meg stood next to Sally on the terrace in front of the Coldwind Farm and looked down the road. The sun was already touching the horizon and warm light covered the landscape around the large building. The corn plants in the fields swayed gently in the warm wind, while from time to time a few birds flew up from the nearby forest.

Meg wondered if Anna had scared the animals off, but she doubted it. It had probably been Max who, clumsy as he was, stumbled through the undergrowth and announced his presence within a radius of a hundred metres. Anna, on the other hand, was a huntress. She went forward quietly, moved unseen and unheard.

Sally had sent them into the woods about an hour ago with instructions not to return before sunrise. She had told Max that he was not allowed to use his chainsaw and Anna that she should watch him carefully.

"Go hunting," Sally had said, "show Max how to handle these axes."

Anna of course jumped eagerly at the idea. Immediately she grabbed the Hillbilly and dragged him out into the woods. She had always wanted to take him along on one of her expeditions, but their different daily routines had prevented her from doing so. Max simply was not a nocturnal creature. Nevertheless, today he had to vanish.

"I hope they understood you," Meg mumbled and kept her eyes on the forest. The shadows of the trees were already long and like greedy fingers crawled towards the farm.

"Of course, they did," Sally replied, "If you ask Anna to do something, she does it to the best of her abilities. Or doesn´t she?"

"She does," Meg nodded. Anna was truly one of the most reliable people she knew, "I just hope everything goes well and they don´t bump into someone."

"Into whom?"

"Partygoers, for example, straying into the woods to... you know."

Sally laughed. The concern was perhaps justified, but to imagine the situation was also very funny.

"Relax," she reassured Meg, "everything will be all right. You just focus on having fun. I'll take care of the rest."

"You could get discovered too, you know," Meg replied, but Sally just waved her hand.

"I made it through New York and then Weeks without blowing my cover. This is nothing."

"In New York you didn´t have to talk to people and they would never see you again," Meg replied, "I just want to be careful."

"You're careful enough," Sally said, "It´s going to be fine, you´ll see."

"Sally"

"Huh?"

"Thank you."

The Nurse looked at Meg and their eyes crossed. She nodded benevolently and at the same moment a humming truck appeared between the trees. Clattering he rushed up the road to the farm and pulled a thick cloud of dust behind him.

"There they are," Sally mumbled and smiled at Meg, who felt a little excitement. Since she had been kidnapped into the fog, she had not been to any party and had never had anything to do with strangers. Silently she wondered if she still knew her way around people.

Shaking her head, Meg wiped the absurd thought aside as the vehicle came to a standstill right in front of the farm. The side door was pushed open and Ellie jumped out onto the dry ground. Her face was filled with joy. Waving, she ran up to the terrace.

"Good Evening", she shouted with a broad grin, "Thanks' again for letting us do this here. You really bailed us out."

"You're welcome," Sally said, "Meg will show you everything. Make yourselves at home, but follow her instructions, all right?"

"Of course," Ellie replied and Sally nodded to her, "Good. I'll be in the house if you need anything. Have a good time."

Then she turned around and disappeared into the farm, but not without giving Meg an encouraging look beforehand.

"Excellent", Ellie said and clapped her hands, "We have everything in the car, Meg, drinks, sound system and a tent. Just tell us where to put it and we´ll get to work."

"Okay," Meg stammered, "um… follow me."

She went down the terrace and first pointed at the stable in the south of the farm. "We have some animals in there, so I´d suggest that we concentrate the activities to the other side of the house."

"Makes sense," Ellie commented, signalling her brother, who had now also exited the car, to follow her.

"Hi", he greeted Meg casually and the three went to the north side of the house, where there was a large free area. The grass was short and the ground neither too damp nor too dry. It was a good spot.

"Here we can go crazy", Meg explained, "There´s a generator on the back of the house. We can use it to power the sound system. I hope you brought some wires."

"We did," Ellie confirmed, "Then we'll set up our tent there. Or rather, Chris will."

"Aren´t we going to help him?" Meg asked, but Ellie waved off, "He'll take care of it. In the meantime, we can load the drinks of the truck."

"How much did you bring?"

The Latina just shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know, to be honest. Eric was responsible for our supplies. But I'm sure he's calculated enough for everyone."

"How many do we even expect?", Meg wanted to know, and Ellie replied, "I know that twenty people are showing up guaranteed, but hopefully word got around that we're having the party here. I'm sure there'll be more."

Meg nodded approvingly. It was a large but manageable crowd.

"Then let me explain a few things to you," she said and looked Ellie in the eyes, "I trust you both to help me keep things on order. I don't want any escalation here."

"Of course not," Ellie said.

"The lawn should be left relatively clean," Meg continued, "I can provide some large buckets that we can use as waste containers for plastic cups and glass bottles. And please tell everyone to pay some attention to their behaviour. Drinking's all fun, puking against the house isn´t."

"Of course,"

"The stable´s taboo"

"Absolutely."

"Toilets are in the house. Otherwise, I'm asking everyone to stay outside. My mother´s seriously ill, even though she doesn't like to admit it. She needs her rest, so we shouldn't disturb her in the house."

"Wow," Ellie said, "She's a really generous woman. Of course, we´ll tell everybody. They listen to us."

"Good," Meg nodded, "Otherwise, we can do whatever we want."

"Great," Ellie shouted, "Can we make a campfire?"

"A campfire?"

"Tim's with the fire department. He knows all about these things."

"Uh... All right," Meg replied, "As long as you don't set anything on fire. It's best to do it far away from the house and the fields. The weather has been dry. We should be careful."

"We should. Hey, there comes Simon." Ellie shot Meg a sharp smile, "He´s our DJ."

Another vehicle was just driving up the road and stopped in front of the Coldwind Farm. In contrast to Ellie's black, flawless truck, this car was painted in multiple colours and covered with countless stickers and banners. The next moment a slanting looking guy opened the driver's door and shook Chris' hand. He wore the typical combination of hoodie and shield cap that was so common among DJs and seemed to be a rather relaxed guy.

"This location´s lit", he called out and took an impressed look at the house, "Man, I´ve never been out here before. I didn't know it was so beautiful here."

"You gotta thank Meg for that," Ellie said, pointing to her hostess. Meg raised her hand in greeting and Simon pulled his cap off his head for a moment.

"Nice move", he said, "lending us your place. Really kind of you."

"There are a few rules we have to follow," Ellie immediately threw in, "Chris´s gonna tell you. You both better get started setting up the sound system and the tent. Meg and I´ll take care of the drinks and the bar. All right?"

"Sure thing," the DJ replied and immediately set to work with Chris. The tent was more of a shelter, consisting of a green tarpaulin held high by several metal poles. Meg watched Chris for a moment as his strong arms lifted three struts simultaneously before she broke loose and followed Ellie to the car. The trunk of her truck was filled to the top with drinks, packed in pallets, crates or just loose bottles. But first Ellie pointed at a long folding table.

"Let´s set up this bad boy first," she said, "This will be our bar. We´ll set up a small buffet on top of it and store the rest right under. This way we´ll always have something at hand."

"Sounds good," Meg said and reached for the long table Together they pulled it out of the wagon and carried it over the lawn. It was a light but sturdy construction. Meanwhile Chris had already set about ramming the metal rods into the soft earth to then pull up the roof.

Simon, on the other hand, loaded a series of speakers and cables from the car, which he then assembled into a sound system, right opposite the bar. At the sight of the whole device, Meg wondered if Sally hadn't perhaps overestimated her ability to put up with the noise. After all, her hearing was far better than that of any human.

A little while later a third vehicle appeared in front of the Coldwind Farm. Inside were Eric, two pretty girls, as well as more drinks and some food. The sports club really had not held back.

"Hi, Meg," Eric greeted while climbing out of the car, "Hey Ellie, Tim said he'd bring a fire extinguisher for the campfire. Just in case."

"Great," Ellie replied and then pointed to the table, "Drinks and snacks are going there."

"Self-service?" Eric asked.

"Yep."

"We sure do have enough for everyone," Meg mumbled and nodded her head to Eric's car. The blonde boy followed her gaze and laughed, "Hopefully."

It was not long before other party guests started showing up. At ever shorter intervals vehicles arrived at the Coldwind Farm, while the sun slowly sank behind the horizon. Tim the fireman had now arrived as well and immediately set about getting the campfire going. In addition to the car headlights, it would serve as a light source as well as adding an exciting atmosphere to the whole celebration.

Simon had meanwhile set up all his equipment and started the evening with moderately loud and relaxed music. Later, he assured Ellie, he would shift gears. Some of the guests had brought benches, tables and chairs as well, so there were plenty of seats. Slowly, but surely, the party started rolling.

* * *

A few hours later Meg leaned against one of the metal poles and followed the progressing celebration. The campfire had already grown to a considerable size and in front of the DJ a small dance floor had formed itself. As expected, about fifty people showed up, maybe a few more. Meg was not entirely sure.

Satisfied, she sipped at her drink, a small plastic cup filled with beer. The party had not escalated. Everyone was enjoying themselves in a regular and orderly fashion. Nobody was drunk beyond every measure and they still had a lot of the drinks left. Even the food would not run out anytime soon.

She turned her head to the left and watched a giggling couple staggering off into the cornfield. Silently she wished them fun. Then she looked over her shoulder back to the house and thought of Sally. Hopefully the noise did not bother her too much. On the other hand, the whole party had been her damned idea. If she regretted it now, she could only blame herself.

But she had been right, too. Meg had longed for human contact for a long time and her fears, which had kept her from socializing with the youth on the countryside, had proven to be exaggerated and unnecessary. Everything was fine. Sally was in the house well-hidden and nobody suspected anything. Max and Anna enjoyed themselves in the forest and probably had just as much fun together as the celebrants on the farm. And she herself had not been so happy in a long time.

Meg felt a little tipsy, but in a good way. She had already drunk a lot, but it was by far not the worst intoxication of her life. It was rather that perfect level between debilitating drunkenness and exhilarating dizziness.

At first, she had renounced alcohol and focused on looking after the partygoers. At some point she had noticed that her worries were unnecessary and therefore soon joined the partying crowd. Some insanely stupid drinking games later, Ellie had managed to drag her on the dance floor where the two had gone crazy for an hour or so. After that Meg had gone on the search for something to eat. Now she just stood here with a full stomach and reddened cheeks.

"Nice party," some said right beside her and when Meg turned her head, she spotted Chris strolling towards her. "It's a beautiful evening."

Meg nodded, "It couldn't have gone any better."

"Simon just knows how to entertain a crowd."

"He knows," Meg confirmed, "But I also meant that no one got wasted and that the house is still standing."

"Well, the evening´s not over yet", Chris remarked dryly and after a short moment both fell into a silent laugh. The alcohol had risen into their heads by now and even weak jokes had an amazing effect.

"Don't worry", Chris reassured with playful seriousness, "Ellie and I have everything under control".

"I can see that," Meg replied and looked over to the Latina, who was still doing cutting loose on the dance floor. Smiling, she turned back to Chris.

"Seriously now," Meg said, "Thank you."

"What for?" Chris asked, "It´s your farm. If anyone, we gotta thank you."

"I mean, for doing all of this," Meg explained, "Not just the party, but the marathon as well. I just had a really good time."

"You´re most welcome. I'm glad you liked it."

"I haven't been around people in a long time, you know," Meg went on, "I guess I missed that more than I thought."

She turned briefly to Chris, who just stared at her.

"Oh God, I must seem like an anxious hermit to you," Meg mumbled in shame.

"No, not at all," the athlete replied, "On the contrary. I find it rather impressive how loyal you take care of your mother. That's not a given."

"Well..."

"It´s not," Chris insisted. "If you ask me, half the daughters of the farm owners in Weeks would rather let their parents die and collect the inheritance."

"You're talking nonsense, Chris."

"Maybe. All I'm saying is that your mother can be proud of having a daughter like you."

Meg looked at him briefly before turning back to the fire that was crackling cheerfully at some distance. Somehow, she felt sorry that all his appreciation for her was based on a lie. On the other hand, she really was the one who made it possible for Sally, Max and Anna to live on the farm undisturbed. What difference did it make whether Sally was really her mother or not?

"Sorry," Chris grumbled, "I always get serious and overly honest when I´m drunk."

"That makes two of us."

They had a quick look at each other.

"I'm hungry," Meg remarked. "Let's go get something to eat."

"Won´t say no to that," Chris agreed and the two went over to the buffet. Most of the plates were already empty, but one of the latecomers had brought a homemade cake, that was nearly untouched.

"You think it's any good?" Meg asked, suspiciously eyeing the cake. Chris scratched his chin briefly and then bent down to inspect it.

"Hm, doesn't look half bad. You're not allergic to strawberries, are you?"

Meg shook her head.

"Then I'd say we try it."

"After you," Meg said, handing Chris a small knife. While he was cutting two equally size pieces off the cake, Meg went over to grab two paper plates. She did not know how long it had been since she had eaten anything like this the last time.

"One for you..." Chris said and handed her a plate, "And one for me. Bon Appetit."

"You too"

Meg shot him a smile before she lowered her attention to the cake. It really did not look bad. Only the fact that no one had tasted it all this time sparked some distrust in her. Hesitantly, she grabbed a plastic fork and cut off a small bite before carefully putting it between her teeth.

"And?" Chris asked, but Meg was still busy getting the taste. It hardly took her a second to make up her mind.

"Damn"

"That bad?"

"No," Meg shook her head, "On the contrary. Whoever made it is a genius."

Chris, who wanted to put her statement to the test himself, also quickly ate a piece.

"You´re right, it is good."

"Isn't it?"

"Absolutely" He took another big bite and let his eyes wander over the crowd, "I'm just wondering why no one has touched it yet."

"No idea" Meg shrugged her shoulders and watched the celebrating guests as well. Ellie was still enjoying herself on the dance floor, Simon hammered out one hit after the other and Eric was playing a round of beer pong. His opponent was one of the pretty girls with whom he had arrived at early and he was quite obviously getting destroyed. Skilfully she landed one shot after the other, while Eric, who was probably a bit more than just drunk, had trouble hitting the table at all.

"The fire´s already quite big, isn't it?" Chris muttered and drew Meg's attention to the flames. They really were flickering high in the sky. She looked around for Tim and discovered him a few meters away, amused, but fully master of his senses. Responsible as ever he kept his watchful eye on the fire. Everything was under control.

"It's all right," Meg said. "After all, it's a big celebration. There's got to be a big fire."

"I bet you can see that all the way down in the town," Chris commented, and Meg thought for a moment before she replied, "Possibly. I hope no one calls the fire department."

"Tim certainly informed his colleagues," Chris reassured, "If someone calls, they already know it´s no emergency."

"And what if there is an emergency?"

"Then I'll run into the house and save your mother before the whole farm burns down." Chris threw himself in the chest while Meg, with her eyebrows raised, asked, "You would do that?"

"For a pretty girl like you all the time."

Chris put down his now empty plate and positioned himself in front of Meg, who was leaning backwards against the table. The distance between the two of them was definitely smaller than good manners demanded. Amused Meg laid a hand against his chest and prevented further advancement, but without pushing him away.

"Ellie warned me, you know."

"Warned?" Chris asked with pretentious innocence, "About what?"

"About you" Meg now also put her plate down. "She said I should watch out for you and your charming smile."

"My charming smile? Do I have something like that?"

Meg shook her head and replied, "I'm not sure yet. But she also said you like going for vulnerable targets."

"Are you a vulnerable target?"

"Absolutely."

Meg had to roll back her head if she wanted to continue looking Chris in the eyes. He was so much taller than her. His scent had already drowned out all the other smells around her and Meg could hear his deep breaths, so close was he to her. An exhilarating feeling had set in. She increasingly lost control of her limbs and a strange warmth spread inside her, with the heart as the centre.

Meg had long since taken her hand from Chris chest, while his were already grasping her hips and proceeding into ever more daring regions. She could hardly resist the kiss. He had completely taken the lead. It was a feeling that she usually detested. To be defenceless, helpless. But now she embraced it. She liked to be conquered, to be at his mercy and to expose herself to his tender yet demanding touch. She liked to be desired. And she liked giving in to desire of her own. After all, she had it piled up for years.


	4. The Last Call

**The Last Call**

Monika Weiss sat at her parents' table in Leipzig and hungrily started to eat a portion of steaming noodles. Tomato sauce and mozzarella, that's how she liked it most and her mother had done everything to spoil her during her short visit. It would not be long before she had to return to active duty.

"You like it?" Sara, Monika's sister, asked. She laughed but did not really expect an answer. She was two years younger than Monika and was working as a full-fledged German teacher for five years now. So, unlike her older sister, Sara had a relatively boring job, but there had been many occasions on which Monika had wished for exactly that. Especially when she turned her head and looked over to Lukas, her seven-year-old son.

Monika herself had always avoided the question of children and her employment at GSG9 had provided her with a wealth of distractions. Sometimes she had convinced herself that she didn't want any children at all, sometimes she had simply wiped the thoughts aside and devoted herself to other tasks. But now that she saw Lukas growing up in a happy family, she slowly realized the things she had not yet achieved in her life and probably never would.

Although the Rainbow Operators were not forbidden to marry and have children, they were deployed around the world, rarely stayed in the same place for more than a month, and had little time for day-to-day concerns, such as relationships. It was not impossible, but very unlikely. In addition, Monika had always had problems with letting people get close to her.

"It´s wonderful," Monika said and looked briefly over to Claudia, her mother, who was still in the kitchen.

"Mama," she shouted, "Come here, the food's getting cold."

"I'm coming," the answer resounded, "I´ll just quickly rinse these three plates and the pot."

"I'll do that after," Sara shouted, "Come sit with us."

With a theatrical sigh, Monika's mother put the plates in the sink and came over into the living room. Before she sat down, she tied up her apron and hung it over the back of her armchair. Meanwhile Monika loaded a large portion onto her mother´s plate.

"Not so much," Claudia protested, while Sara took a quick look at Lukas. The boy was still playing with his toy cars, which he pushed back and forth on a carpet that reproduced the aerial view of a city.

"Have you told her about your idea yet?" Claudia asked and attracted Monika's attention. But the question had been addressed to Sara, who replied: "No, not yet. But I'm glad you remembered."

The teacher looked at her sister.

"The other day at school we had a special day where members of the firefighters gave a talk in the auditorium. Among other things, the children were taught what to look out for in the event of a fire or other emergencies. They were also introduced to the profession of firefighter. You know, the majority of them still have no clue what they want to do later on in their lives. Confronting them with the wide array of possibilities is just the right thing, you know, also to plant into their minds, that they better started thinking about it."

"Okay," Monika hesitantly asked, "What's this got to do with me?"

"The day was a great success", explained Sara: "We only received positive feedback, the children were really interested in what they were shown. Believe me, this is more of an exception than a rule. So, I thought to myself, why shouldn't we do it again?"

Monika could already imagine where Sara was heading, but she continued to listen attentively.

"Unfortunately, I have no acquaintances in the ambulance services," Sara continued. "But in the police, I know someone."

She smiled challengingly at Monika, who for the time being refrained from answering.

"Wouldn't it be great if you came to my school to introduce your profession?" Sara asked: "We could work together, at least for a day, and there would be hardly anything more exciting for the students than a GSG9 police officer. Or several, if you want to bring some of your colleagues."

Monika allowed herself a smile when she thought about Tachanka praising the advantages of Soviet machine guns over modern models in a classroom or how Caveira performed one of her horror stories from the favelas in front of a group of shocked students.

However, no one in Monika's family knew that she belonged to the international anti-terrorist unit. They didn't even know what exactly Monika was doing within the GSG9. All these things were top secret.

"Sara," Monika started: "I don't think that's possible."

"Why not?"

"The GSG9 is a special elite force within the Federal Police. They'll never let me just walk into a school and present all our tactics and strategies. These things are... confidential."

"But that's not what I'm talking about," said Sara. "You could tell the students how you became a policewoman. The training you have undergone and the experiences you have gained along the way. Besides, it certainly wouldn't hurt if you told them how to behave in a serious situation and how to provide first aid."

"I think that's a great idea," Claudia added, providing Sara with some backup. Monika looked from her mother to her sister and back again. Then she said, "I can make the proposal to my superiors, but I don't think they'll approve it."

"Please, try," Sara said hopefully: "I´d really like to introduce you to my pupils. They're all so excited about you."

"Your pupils don't even know me."

"Not directly," Sara admitted, "but I mentioned on one occasion or another that you were with GSG9. You can believe me, there's nothing more exciting for them than an counterterrorist specialist. What was your department again?"

"Nice try," Monika laughed. "You know perfectly well I can't tell you anything."

"Whatever." Sara shrugged her shoulders. "Especially the girls were thrilled when they heard you were with the police. I swear to you, some of them didn't even think a woman in an CT-unit was possible."

"Maybe I should really stop by," Monika thought aloud, "and broaden their horizons a bit."

"I agree," Sara called. Then she took a quick look at the clock on the wall and said, "Mom, didn't Dad want to be home already?"

"You're right," Claudia replied: "He probably got lost in his work again. You know him."

Monika nodded in agreement and in the exact same moment her phone began to beep and vibrate.

"Sorry, I gotta take this," she said, got up in a hurry and went into the kitchen. It was probably better if nobody listened to the following conversation, because it was not a normal call. The screen of Monika's special mobile phone indicated that a secure connection had been established. There was only one organisation, who would do this.

"Yes?"

"Hello IQ," a voice answered, "This is Jäger. Six has recalled all operators back into active duty, effective immediately. Vacation's cancelled. I'll pick you up in half an hour."

"Alright, I´ll see you later"

A short beep signalled that the call had ended, and Monika put the phone back in her pocket. After a short moment she went back to the living room, where Sara already looked at her questioningly.

"Something important?"

"You could say that," Monika replied, "I´m recalled back to base."

"When?"

"In half an hour."

"Monika," Claudia shouted in surprise: "What´s that supposed to mean? I thought you were on vacation."

"It's been cancelled."

"But you just got here," Sara complained. "We wanted to go out to the lake with Lukas tomorrow."

"I'm sorry," Monika replied. "Really. But I'm afraid I don´t have time for that anymore."

Claudia and Sara exchanged a brief look while Monika picked up her dishes and carried them into the kitchen. When she was halfway there, her sister asked: "Monika? Did something happen? Why do they need you all of a sudden?"

"I don't know," Monika replied. An answer none of the three really liked. Silence filled the room until Sara silently raised her voice again.

"Monika?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

The two sisters looked each other in the eyes for a moment before Sara continued.

"I recently saw a report about this new counterterrorist unit in the news. An international task force that also includes four Germans. They fight on the front lines all over the world and I´ve heard their missions are dangerous as fuck. Like, really dangerous. They´re called Team Rainbow."

Sara took a short break.

"I know you can't tell me anything... But are you with them?"

"But no," Claudia interjected. "She's with GSG9."

Sara said nothing and just looked at Monika, who came to the conclusion that there was no point in lying anymore. Even if it might have saved her family a lot of worries.

"Yes"

Sara nodded slightly as she processed the certainty she had just gained. Claudia, on the other hand, looked back and forth between her two daughters before finally turning to Monika.

"But why didn't you tell us? How long have you been with these people?"

Monika sighed briefly before answering: "Since the foundation five years ago."

"That's horrible," Claudia exclaimed: "I always thought you were in Germany somewhere. Is this job more dangerous than... than what you've done before?"

Monika tried to find an answer that was as gentle as possible, but Sara fortunately relieved her from needing to answer.

"Probably not. I guess she´s been recruited to do the exact same thing as before. Haven´t you?"

Monika nodded, even if it was not quite true. Rainbow operators had to carry out much more dangerous missions than the average GSG9 policeman. However, the comrades at their side were also the best in the world.

"Listen," Monika said, "I have to get ready. Jäger´s going to pick me up in half an hour."

"Jäger" Sara asked, "Who's that?"

"One of my… co-workers," Monika replied. She was already halfway to the stairs and had climbed them soon after, reaching the guest room. There under the bed was a heavy, black suitcase with a thick and secure lock. Inside were her weapons, devices and equipment, which were all she needed to carry out an emergency mission. Team Rainbow's doctrine demanded that every operator kept his equipment ready and close at all times.

Monika quickly grabbed the black suitcase, got rid of her evening clothes and slipped into her uniform. Then she went back downstairs just as the doorbell rang. Monika hoped that her father had finally returned from work so that she could say goodbye to him. But as soon as she reached the living room, her hopes were crushed.

"Monika," Jäger said, whose real name was Marius Streicher. The two shook hands and the operator immediately took his comrade's suitcase. Meanwhile Monika turned to her family. Lukas had interrupted his playing when the strange man had entered, and his mother and grandmother had gotten up from the table. There was a moment of embarrassed silence before Sara embraced her sister and said, "Good luck wherever you go."

"You too"

She laughed and wiped a tear from her eyes: "I am a teacher, Monika. I think you´ll need it more than I do. Please, take care of yourself."

"I will."

She sniffed and then made room for Claudia, who also embraced her daughter. Monika noticed that she had tears in her eyes as well and she knew that her mother was no woman likely to cry.

"You come back to me," Claudia whispered, "Promise me that."

Monika swallowed down the lump in her throat and answered: "I promise."

"I love you."

"I love you too. And tell Papa I love him as well."

"Oh, I'll tell him something else," Claudia growled and the two parted again: "He and his damn work. Now he's not even here to say goodbye to his daughter."

"He didn't know that I had to leave so quickly."

"Can't you just wait for him?"

"I don't think that's possible," Monika replied with a heavy heart: "Please tell him that I love him. And I don't want any of you to worry."

"Are you kidding me," Sara asked, shaking her head, "How are we supposed not to worry?"

"Then worry as little as possible", Monika insisted: "And don't believe everything you hear in the news. And it might very well be that you don´t hear from me for some time. Just don´t freak out, alright?"

"We'll try," Claudia said and hugged her daughter again before they finally said goodbye to each other. The first steps from vacation back to active service always seemed like the transition into another world to Monika. It was like a ritual, where she exchanged her identity, even her personality. The further away she went from the front door, the less she was Monika Weiss and the closer she came to her waiting colleague, the more she became IQ.

* * *

Caveira felt four brutal hands, dragging her down a rough corridor. She tried to defend herself, but the sack above her head drowned her in complete darkness and her tormentors were strong men. They stopped for a moment. Caveira heard a door being opened, before she was dragged on an pushed into a hard chair. Immediately tight shackles wrapped around her wrists and ankles as the thugs exchanged a few words. Caveira could not understand them. Then she heard footsteps and a few moments later the door slammed shut again. The sound of a key told Caveira, that she had been locked in.

Adrenaline was rushing through her limbs, but thanks to her training and experience, she managed to stay reasonably calm. As far as she could tell, she was alone in the room, but that could change at any moment. If she wanted to attempt an escape, she had to do it now. Caveira was sure there would not be much she could do anymore, once the torturers were finished with her.

Desperately she tugged at the shackles around her arms, then at those around her feet. In complete darkness she felt only painful cuts, but no movement. The shackles were strong and would not budge an inch.

What the hell happened?

Caveira tried to gather her thoughts, all the while trying to control her breath. Jorge, or whatever the bastard's name was, had been warned. He had known that BOPE would send an agent to his base and he had known when she would arrive. Was there a mole in BOPE? How else could he have known? Damn, maybe she had even been exposed. Did this fucker know who she was and in what unit she served?

Caveira decided that she had to get out of here as fast as possible. Again, she tried to tug at her shackles. It was hopeless. These men were masters in their ruthless trade, and she was certainly not the first victim trying to escape this chair.

Caveira wanted to cry out in frustration and anger but managed to keep her mouth shut. If she was to be tortured, she would at least deprive her tormentors of the satisfaction of hearing her cry. They could beat her, kick her, cut off her fingers, rape her and slit her throat, but they would not break her. Caveira was highly determined to win the game. She was dead anyway.

A metallic sound followed by the squeaking of rusty hinges filled the room, which could only mean that the door had been opened again. Caveira could hear three people entering the small chamber before the was door closed again. Completely blind, she calmed her breath and gathered strength for the dooming procedure. Alright, let´s do it, she thought, just before the sack was forcefully removed from her head.

Bright light dazzled her eyes and it took a moment for her to recognize the silhouettes behind the lamp that was pointed directly at her face. That was Jorge, accompanied by his two muscular bodyguards. Concern was reflected on the leader's face and with a serious look he scrutinized Caveira. Valiantly she held her ground and stared right back at him with a provocative grin.

"How arrogant do you have to be," Jorge asked after a while and turned to an ugly table: "To believe that you can just walk into the lion's den and escape unharmed?"

He picked up a steel instrument and turned it in his hands. Playfully he let it flash in the semi-darkness. It was a knife-like construction, which Caveira knew was an excellent tool for peeling skin of the body.

Stage one, she thought. Presenting the instruments.

"It worked often enough with you idiots," Caveira replied casually, as if they were talking about the weather. Jorge turned around and stared at her with hate in his eyes.

"You think you're something better," he said dangerously calm: "You think you can look down on the millions living in the favelas, fighting over you people´s scraps just to survive. Your arrogance will be your downfall."

"Shit happens, man," Caveira said, apparently infuriating Jorge even further. The man could hardly control his anger. Good. Maybe she could bring him up to the point, where he would just kill her out of pure rage, thus sparing her a lot of excruciating hours.

"Still in the mood to jest?" he growled, "But I´ll get you out of it, just you see. At this moment, we're moving our base, since we've obviously been exposed..." It was information that Caveira herself would have guessed. "...but we still have a few hours left just for each other Time that I will use to make an example."

Jorge picked up another device, this time a tool that was used to cut knuckles. He looked at it briefly, then put it back down again. Caveira almost exhaled with relief, as she had already thought the conversation had ended, but apparently Jorge still wanted to chat. With a dirty grin he turned back to her, walked over and pushed his hand between her legs.

"But maybe the three of us should take turns on you first, what do you say?"

The boys never thought of anything new either, Caveira thought and inwardly rolled her eyes. On the outside, however, she tried to keep an indifferent face and replied: "Could you light a few candles? I like it romantic, when I´m being fucked."

Jorge´s hand crashed into her face and she would have fallen over with the chair, if not for the two guards holding her up. Caveira felt warm blood flow from her burst lip to her chin and took a deep breath before turning her defiant gaze back to Jorge. His face was struck with anger and after they fought a brief staring duel, he turned around and grabbed a rusty pair of pliers from the table.

"You've got a loose mouth, you fucking whore," he yelled, "But that can be fixed, oh yes."

He gave a wave to one of the guards, who immediately stepped up to Caveira and put an iron grip around her lower jaw. Brutally he squeezed down, forcing her mouth open and exposing her tongue to violent amputation.

Stage two, Caveira thought. Using the instruments.

Caveira tried to prepare herself for the impending mutilation as quickly as she could. With every step Jorge took towards her, her heartbeat soared upwards, even though she tried to prevent it. A new wave of adrenaline rushed through her body and made her limbs tremble. There was nothing she could do.

Desperately Caveira threw herself back and forth, trying to free herself from the clutches and shackles. But it was hopeless. Jorge was only a meter away now and raised his instrument of torture with a sadistic grin on his face. He could not be stopped anymore.

Caveira suppressed a cry of fear and instead closed her eyes as she prepared for the pain. She was not allowed to break, she repeated again and again. No way! Never! She was not allowed to show them any weakness! She would endure!

A deafening crash burst through the small room. Debris and dust were thrown around as the grip on Caveira's jaw loosened and Jorge flinched back. Hastily he reached for the gun on his belt, but it was too late.

Caveira closed her eyes tightly, just Blitz stormed into the chamber and activated the flashing device on his shield. An explosion of light filled the room, dazzling Jorge and his thugs, who began to fire their sidearms blindly toward the hole in the wall. It did not even take a second, until the fire was returned with incomparable precision. The two guards fell almost simultaneously, their bodies pierced by surgical shots. Jorge, on the other hand, received a bullet into his left knee and went down, screaming in pain. Immediately several armed men stormed into the room, securing all corners.

"CLEAR"

"I thought you'd be late," Caveira complained when Buck walked over to her and loosened her shackles. He just gave her a provocative smile. In the meantime, Jorge, who was whimpering on the floor, was pulled up and dragged through the room. Just after Caveira had stood up from the gruesome chair, Ela pushed the ruthless leader into it and immediately tightened the shackles around his wrists.

"Buck, Blitz," Thatcher called through the breach in the wall, ignoring the sound of distant shots echoing through the hallways of the large building: "Go and join Capitao in securing the southern wing."

The two operators immediately set off, signalling three heavily armed BOPE soldiers, who had participated in the assault, to follow them. Thatcher let the five men leave and then stepped through the hole into the room, looking at Caveira rubbing her sore wrists.

"You alright?"

Caveira nodded and mumbled, "Just don´t make it that exciting next time."

The Brit allowed himself a laugh, shot a quick glance at Jorge, who was half unconscious in his shackles, and walked over to her. Meanwhile, two more BOPE soldiers came into the room. In the distance there were still shots to be heard while the building was being cleared. Simply kicking the door in, just as BOPE had proposed, seemed to work rather well after all.

"Any information?" Thatcher asked.

"Nothing you didn´t see," Caveira answered, pointing to the tiny camera hidden in her shirt button. Thatcher nodded and muttered, "I hope we manage to secure some important stuff."

"We got him," Ela interceded from across the room. She was standing right behind Jorge and was patting his bald head with her right hand. At the same moment, the radio on Thatcher's shoulder began buzzing and Buck's voice came up.

"The south wing is clear, but some tangos have barricaded themselves behind a heavily armoured door. It's secured with a code, we can´t get through it without heavy weapons."

"Understood," Thatcher replied: "Hold your positions and search the area for clues. I'll take care of the code. If you´ve got any prisoners, bring them to the torture chamber. Caveira´s gonna take care of them."

Buck confirmed, and Thatcher turned to Jorge. The fat leader whimpered in pain, but he was still master of his senses. He could hear them and answer questions. That was all Thatcher needed from him.

"Hey, you," he shouted and ripped Jorge´s head up: "There's an armoured door in the basement. We need the code."

Jorge hatefully stared at Thatcher, whose face was hidden behind a black gas mask. The Mascara Blanca leader had sustained a head injury, probably from the fall, and blood was running down the right side of his face. Breathing heavily, he growled, "Fuck you!"

"Not what I had hoped to hear," Thatcher noted in his deep British accent: "But I'm sure I know someone who appreciates your willingness to fight."

His gaze wandered to Caveira.

"I'll leave him to you. Make him give up the code, but don't kill him. Ela, you help her."

With these words Thatcher turned around and left the chamber. In passing he signalled the two BOPE soldiers to follow him so that Caveira and Ela were left alone with Jorge. Grinning mischievously, the Brazilian woman moved into the leader's field of view from the left, while Ela did the same on the other side. Jorge could not withstand their merciless eyes and lowered his head in pain.

"Hey," Caveira yelled, "Look at me, fuckface!"

She bent down to the fat man and deliberately leaned on his injured knee, eliciting a loud cry of pain from him. Subsequently, his attention was again focused on the two women.

"So" Caveira continued, while Ela took a few steps back and leaned against the wall, arms crossed and watching casually: "Let me try to explain the situation as simply as possible, so that your puny, dirty, stupid brain can comprehend it."

Ela laughed quietly to herself. Of course, she knew that torture was strictly forbidden under the Geneva Convention. She also knew that Caveira knew. And last but not least, she knew that nobody cared, neither BOPE, nor Thatcher, and least of all Six.

The man who sat here, tied to the chair, had surely tortured countless people on his own and was now withholding important information. All he had to do was give up the code and this ugly ordeal would be over before it even started.

"There´s an armoured door in the southern wing," Caveira explained: "I´m sure you know what I´m talking about. Now I don´t know if you noticed earlier, but we´d very much like to get through it and to do that, we need a code. I´m pretty sure it´s hiding somewhere up there."

Caveira had pulled a knife and was now pushing it against Jorge´s forehead. A bloody trickle flowed down his face, but the man just growled angrily.

"As soon as we have heavier equipment here, we'll get in anyway," Caveira said objectively and took the knife from his forehead: "You can only stop us for a few hours. I bet I´ll break you in one. But to be honest..." She rammed Jorge's knife into the injury and a choked scream echoed through the room. "To be honest, I hope you´ll hold out for two."

Caveira pulled the knife out again and asked in a rather calmly manner: "The code, please?"

"Fuck you," Jorge gasped and spat in front of her. The Brazilian woman raised only one eyebrow, turned around and walked to the table with the torture tools. She selectively let her hand glide over the instruments while humming a gentle melody.

Ela, who was still watching, knew that Caveira had some experience with interrogation, but the sheer indifference with which the Brazilian inflicted pain, surprised her time and time again. The Polish woman would never have thought of humming a song while browsing through a collection of torture tools.

"Hey, Ela. What do you think about this?" Caveira asked and held up a dirty scalpel. "Where do you think that would hurt the most?"

Ela just shrugged her shoulders, made a gesture toward her crotch and said, "He's a guy. There's a special spot that trumps all the others."

Caveira put on a devilish grin and looked briefly over at Jorge, whose face had already lost all colour. Whether it was because of the loss of blood or because of the fear, Caveira did not know. She was betting on the latter, though. And she had not even touched him yet. As is so often the case, the first stage, the presentation of the instruments, was already incredibly effective when performed correctly: slow, rich in detail and as sadistic as possible.

"I don't know," Caveira thought out loud and put the device back: "I think we should keep it for later. Hey, look at this."

She held up a strange pair of pliers.

"Really an impressive collection, Jorge," Caveira mumbled and turned to the leader. His fear-filled gaze was fixed on the device in her hand and the operator noticed with satisfaction that he was already trembling. Maybe she would not even have to touch him after all.

"I'll ask again," Caveira said and slowly walked towards the tied man, letting the pliers snap a few times. "What´s the code?"

Jorge seemed really torn between holding out and giving in. In the end, however, his choice remained the same.

"Kiss my ass, you whore."

Ela shook her head slightly in the background and lowered her gaze to the ground. Not that she could not endure violence, but it seemed unnecessary to her to witness every cruelty if it could be avoided.

"Whore", Caveira mumbled in a dangerously calm tone: "How many times have you called me that by now?"

She put one foot on Jorge's knee – the injured one – and bent down to him. Her hand shot forward, grabbing him by the hair und pulling back his ugly head.

"You really don't seem to have any respect for women," Caveira said: "Even if they want to fight for you, you still grab them with your greasy little dirty fingers. But I'll teach you..."

She pulled out her knife with her left hand and let it go down, right between Jorge's legs. The blade crashed into the wooden seat, nailed the fabric of the trousers to the chair, but missed his genitals by a few millimetres.

"The code," Caveira asked again, but when she noticed that the leader hesitated for a moment, she immediately pulled her knife back and slit open his trousers. She tore brutally at the fabric, so that a moment later the man sat there with his lower body exposed.

"YOU WHORE!" Jorge shouted with a trembling voice: "I´LL FUCK YOU UP! DO YOU HEAR ME? I..."

"Shut up," Caveira shouted and rammed the knob of the knife against his neck so that he gasped for air. "You speak only when asked. And when I amputate your dirty little balls right now, you won't make even the slightest sound. Understand?"

Jorge was still breathing heavily, but his hate-filled gaze had given way to an anxious stare. Whimpering, he tore at the shackles as Caveira moved her pliers down between his legs.

"No," he coughed, "Please..."

"Didn't you hear me?" Caveira shouted, put a hand around his neck and squeezed. Just before he passed out she let go again, letting Jorge collapse in the chair. Coughing, he took a deep breath, just before Caveira tore his head back up again. Their faces were only a few centimetres apart and dangerously quietly she whispered, "Last chance for your cock, amigo. Give. Me. The. Code."

Jorge croaked something incomprehensible and Caveira hit him in the face with full power. The sound echoed through the halls.

"Louder" she yelled at him and already made efforts to reach down between his legs again. But Jorge shook himself back and forth and shouted with a broken voice: "Five, three, eight, four, two, nine, one."

"Well, thank you" Caveira said objectively, reaching for her radio: "But I have to say, I´m disappointed. Not even half an hour. Too bad."

* * *

"Understood," Capitao confirmed, signalling his men to stand by. Blitz and Buck were right in front of him, along with six BOPE fighters positioned to the left and right of the heavy steel door.

"We've got the code," Capitao said, releasing the lock on his assault rifle, "We´re going in. Blitz, you lead. Me and Buck follow. BOPE comes in last. Understood?"

All the men nodded and Capitao turned to numpad. It consisted of twelve buttons under a narrow screen that displayed the entered numbers. Hastily the operator put in the code, Caveira had just called out to him, but hesitated before pressing the green enter button.

"We don't know how many are left in there," he said, "so be careful and take it slow."

Then he pushed his fist against the green button and a loud siren sounded, followed by the audible recoil of the heavy bolts holding the door locked. A moment later the door swung open and cleared the way. Blitz immediately jumped into the breach and even before he had fully entered the room, shots were already fired at his shield.

A flash of lightning crashed through the darkness as the operator used the dazzling device and Capitao dared to glance into the room. He counted two enemies, one shooting blindly toward Blitz, the other trying to protect his eyes with his arm lifted. It did not even take a second for the two masked men to fall victim to the precise shots from the attackers' weapons. Their heads exploded, and two lifeless bodies were thrown to the ground.

"Alright, let´s go", Capitao commanded and Blitz moved energetically, but cautiously forward. Behind him, the other team members immediately pushed into the room and covered every possible angle of attack with their rifles. Capitao checked the left side, Buck took the right.

The room they were in seemed like a workshop. On several tables lay a multitude of tools, in one corner stood a server with three computers and a few thick cables towards a door, leading into a corridor. Blitz immediately turned to face the entrance, as his comrades investigated the room.

"Clear" Buck called and Capitao moved to stand behind Blitz. With a quick pat on the back he signalled that the team was ready to push forward, and Blitz started to move. Slowly he put one step in front of the other, always looking down the narrow hallway. Not a single door led to the left or right. The only possible angle of attack was the bend right at the end of the corridor.

Just as Buck glanced down at the cables and wondered what machine they might belong to; a masked man jumped out at the end of the hallway and pointed a pistol at the approaching attackers. The first shot crashed against the German´s shield, the second and third went right past it, but nobody was hit. Buck and Capitao returned fire at the same time, but the enemy had already retreated behind cover.

"Eyes open," Capitao shouted, "It's not over yet."

Blitz now moved a little faster and more aggressively. He wanted to put pressure on the enemy, draw his fire and lead him into making a mistake. Buck would only need a clear shot for half a second to end the fight.

Blitz energetically pushed forward and moved around the corner, but the hallway behind it was empty. At the end there was a narrow door and the German could only catch a glimpse of it being pulled shut. But that was not a problem. This time the door was only thin, and Buck's skeleton key would make short work of the lock.

Blitz hurriedly ran forward, looking out for traps and trip wires at the same time and finally stood straight in front of the closed entrance. First, he exchanged a look with Buck, who had already aimed his gun at the door. Then he looked at Capitao, who was holding a flashbang grenade in his hand.

The Brazilian nodded and almost immediately a shot from Buck´s shotgun slammed into the door. Splinters of wood crashed against Blitz´s Shield and with a powerful thrust he rammed his heavy protection device against the door, forcing it open in no time. Capitao pulled the pin out of his grenade and in one liquid motion threw it through the opening. As soon as he heard the loud bang, Blitz was the first to storm the gap.

"Hostage!" he shouted as his gaze fell on a bound civilian strapped into a strange device in the middle of the room. He had black hair, wore a torn shirt and was seemingly on the brink of falling unconscious. Moaning, he let his head hang down. The sound meant, however, that he was still alive.

The young man was sitting on a machine reminiscent of an electric chair. Head, arms and legs were covered with electrodes and the cables from the previous room seemed to be connected to the device. From there, more cables ran to a silver sphere, which was resting on three long legs about two meters above the ground.

"What the hell?" Buck murmured, as he followed Blitz through the opening. His gaze shot through the room and on the right he discovered the last enemy who had torn an arm in front of his face. It was completely useless, as the flashbang had already done it´s work. The enemy´s pistol was pointing roughly in the direction of the attackers but would not have hit anyone even if it had been loaded. A soft click sounded every time he pressed the trigger in desperation.

Capitao now came into the room as well and secured the other side, while Buck quickly ran over to the white mask and rammed the stock of his assault rifle into his face. With a scream the man fell to the ground and Buck pulled the gun out of his hand before placing a knee on his chest.

"Clear," Capitao shouted, after which two BOPE fighters ran over to the disarmed enemy, grabbed him by the arms and forced him to his knees. Buck ripped the white mask off his head and the face of a seventeen-year-old boy appeared. Blitz noticed that, apart from the mask, he was not wearing the organization´s usual combat equipment. Instead, his upper body was clad in a FC Barcelona shirt and Buck could only shake his head. In the meantime, Capitao reached for his radio.

"This is Capitao. The southern wing is clear. We secured a single hostage and managed to take one tango alive."

"Understood," Thatcher's voice answered through the device: "Well done. Take your prisoner to Caveira and bring the hostage outside. Oh, and if you can find anything important, intel, hard drives or something, secure it as well."

"We´ll do" Capitao said and turned to the tied man. Buck had already handcuffed the boy, who was kneeling on the floor, eyes struck with tears and desperation. Buck now pulled him onto his feet and together with a BOPE soldier brought him away.

Meanwhile, Blitz had approached the hostage and put down his shield. He pulled the glove off his right hand and with loud voice he asked, "Can you hear me?"

The man tried to lift his head, without any success.

"Hello?" Blitz asked loud and clear, "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," the tied man croaked, his voice nothing more than a weak whisper.

"You´re safe, you hear me?" Blitz explained, trying to keep the young man's attention. His body was covered with wounds and bruises that undoubtedly came from torture and violence. He was dangerously weak. It was important that he stayed conscious.

"Can you tell me your name?" Blitz asked, as he took of his other glove. The young man tried to lift his head again. Bloodshot eyes stared at the German operator and he received a weak answer.

"Jake Park."

"Alright, Jake, stay with me," Blitz called and put a hand on the prisoner's left arm. Just as he was about to release the shackles, he noticed a dark fog that spread rapidly and seemed to come from the silver sphere right beside the hostage.

"Damn..." Blitz cursed. Turning around he raised his voice and yelled, "GAS, GAS, GAS!"

The rest of the team reacted immediately and hastily the soldiers began to evacuate the room. Capitao ordered Blitz to follow him, but the German had decided otherwise. The black gas was already covering the ground, but there was no way he would leave the hostage behind. As fast as he could, Blitz started opening the shackles, first on the man´s feet, then on his hands, before finally throwing him over his shoulder and running toward the door. He was already halfway there, when his right foot got stuck, as if he had run into a snare.

"What the Hell?" Blitz growled and looked down. The floor was completely covered with gas and he could not see a thing, yet his right leg would not move an inch. The dark swaths, however, continued to rise upwards and were already pouring out into the hallway, where Capitao was waiting for his comrade.

"Come on, Blitz, get the fuck out of there!"

"I can't!" the operator yelled back at him. "I'm stuck!"

Panicking, he looked down and pushed his right hand into the gas. With his left, he was trying to keep the hostage on his shoulder. But just as his fingers entered the black mist, they seemed to go deaf and dull.

Capitao now took a step back as the fog flooding into the passage had reached his hips. In the chamber it had already risen to chest height and with growing panic Blitz felt how he was losing control over his limbs. What kind of devilish substance was that?

"BLITZ!", Capitao cried out, but had to take another step back. There was nothing else he could do than watching his fellow soldier being devoured by the dark gas. Within seconds the black swaths reached Blitz´s shoulders, then it rose up to his eyes and finally the gas swallowed him completely. Capitao was left alone.

* * *

"Mmmm, those are excellent," Claudette said: "And you learned that from your mother?

"She's been working at the Two Whales for ages," Chloe replied and shrugged her shoulders, while flipping another pancake in the pan: "She just showed me a few of her tricks, that´s all."

"Like mother like daughter," Claudette remarked: "I also inherited my mother's cooking skills. Which is to say, none at all."

"Come on, it can´t be that bad," Max threw in, but the Canadian shook her head: "No, believe me. It is that bad."

"So" Chloe said as she placed the last pancake on a plate, which she then picked up and brought over to the table. Sitting down right opposite Claudette, she began to eat her creation while mustering the Canadian.

"Now tell us a little bit about yourself. I really enjoyed your company today, but you don´t talk much."

"Chloe!" Max shouted and kicked her impudent girlfriend under the table.

"Ow! I just want to get to know her a little better."

"Then act a little more gallantly next time," Max admonished, but Claudette interfered: "It's all right. I guess I'm just not the talkative type. What do you want to know?"

"You're from Canada, right?"

"From Montreal," Claudette confirmed: "I grew up there and moved to the states a few years ago, to go to university."

"What are you studying?"

"Master in Botany"

"My goodness," Max exclaimed and shot Claudette a smile: "Science has never been my strength. I bet you´re lectures are rather difficult."

"I don't know," Claudette said uncertainly, "Actually, I'm doing alright, I guess."

"Nothing´s really difficult, if you have a talent for it," Chloe commented with a grin and Max added, "Chloe here used to be a top student. Best in class in almost all subjects, especially physics and maths."

"Really?"

"Yep," the blue haired girl confirmed

"And now?" Claudette asked, uncertain if she was pushing to far already.

"Now I'm suspended for improper behaviour or something," Chloe replied completely indifferent.

"Oh. What happened?" Claudette asked. Max and Chloe exchanged a quick glance before the latter replied: "My father died. That threw me a little off track for a while."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I... I didn't know..."

"Don´t worry about it," Chloe said, "but we're straying from the subject. We were actually talking about you. So, you´re from Canada and moved to the US. I guess Max can count herself lucky, that she has you here."

"Why is that?"

"Well, in case you meet someone who doesn´t know English," Choe explained, "or if she has to fill out some French forms. Judging from how you talked to that waiter today, you must be perfectly bilingual."

"That's true," Max said and Claudette nodded with a flattered smile. Chloe, however, wanted to know more.

"You also mentioned a boyfriend earlies. Tell us about him. What's his name? Is he hot?"

"Uh, his name is Dwight," the Canadian muttered hesitantly, "You want to know if he´s hot? I don´t know. I... I think he's cute."

"How long have you been together?"

"Two years"

"Two years?" Chloe shouted in recognition, "Really? Not bad. That´s probably longer than any of my relationships ever lasted."

"Without a doubt" Max interjected, but Chloe did not pay her any attention. Instead she kept talking to Claudette.

"How did you two get to know each other?"

"That's a long story," Claudette laughed, briefly indulging in memories.

"No problem, we've got time."

"You wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Why not?" Chloe asked, "Damn, I smell hella good story here. Come on, let's have it."

"I don't know," Claudette stammered uncertainly, and before Chloe could ask any more questions, Max intervened protectively: "Don´t push her Chloe. If he wants to keep it to herself, it´s fine."

"Of course, of course," Chloe said visibly disappointed: "But it sounds like a romantic story, just saying."

"Not really," Claudette mumbled.

"No? A dirty one then!"

"Chloe!"

"Alright, I´ll cut it out."

Max already wanted to scold her girlfriend for being so nosey, but before she could say anything, someone knocked at the door. Three loud blows echoed through the flat and simultaneously the young women turned their heads around.

"Who the fuck´s that?" Chloe asked.

"I don't know," Max answered, "The landlady probably. Go on, open the door."

"Really?" Chloe asked, "Mighty strong punch for an old hag like her, don´t you think?"

Nevertheless, she rose and walked over to the door.

* * *

"Oh, and if you can find anything important, intel, hard drives or something, secure it as well," Thatcher commanded, and a moment later Capitao's voice sounded through the radio: "We´ll do"

The old Brit nodded and turned back to the desk in front of him. By observing through Caveira's hidden camera, he had been able to identify the room as the leader's office, and now he would use the opportunity to scour through the terrorist´s correspondence. His eyes were searching for any valuable information, plans for future assassinations, bombing targets and locations of other bases. Anything that would aid Team Rainbow in putting an end to the White Mask´s activities.

BOPE would undoubtedly claim all for themselves, which is why Thatcher was determined to finish his search before any Brazilian agents got here. Not that he did not trust BOPE, but from many years of experience the old soldier knew that there was no such thing as friends. Only allies. His gaze rose briefly as Caveira and Ela stepped into the room.

"I just sent a prisoner your way," Thatcher said, but Caveira just shrugged her shoulders.

"Jorge´s already told us everything we wanted to know," she said, "Do we need any other information?"

"None that we knew of," Thatcher replied and lowered his gaze back to the documents. One by one, he examined the inscriptions and flew over the names and numbers. "But our reconnaissance was sloppy. It might very well be that some of them still know something that might interest us. Another hostage perhaps."

"We recovered a hostage?" Ela asked, and Thatcher nodded.

"I want you to listen to Jorge and the other prisoners again. I want them to tell you everything they know. Put a little pressure on them, Caveira, but no serious injuries."

"Are you afraid that Amnesty International will drift around the corner and kick up a fuzz?" the Brazilian mocked. Thatcher looked up in slight annoyance and replied: "No, but I don´t want to torture people, if I don´t have to. Do you understand?"

"Loud and clear," Caveira said, turning around and leaving the room. Ela was already about to follow her, but Thatcher called her back.

"Ela, my dear. I think Caveira can do this very well on her own. Why don't you help me with these files?" Grumbling, the old Brit added, "Damn, I should have brought my bloody glasses."

The Polish woman nodded, went back into the room and approached the massive desk. Facing the British she let herself fall into Jorge's comfortable armchair and leaned back.

"Is this how you´re working in Poland?" Thatcher wanted to know. Ela crooked her head a little and answered with a stealthy grin: "If it can be arranged. Why don't we have such armchairs in our bases?"

"Because we're not cartel bosses," Thatcher replied: "Let´s see what you can find in those drawers."

Ela reached down and put her hand around the handle of one of the drawers. She had to pull pretty hard, but fortunately there were no locks. On the inside there was a number of documents as well.

"That must have been one important fellow," Ela muttered and Thatcher nodded.

"Aye, we made a good catch. If we don't find anything important here, I´m gonna do without booze for a whole year."

"I'll take your word for it," Ela laughed, while she was searching through the drawer. With every document however, she just found another contract, list, letter or agreement with local criminal organizations. Interesting for BOPE, less interesting for Team Rainbow.

"Well, there's nothing here," Ela said and closed the drawer again. Then she reached further down and opened the next one: "Maybe we´ll get lucky down..."

She broke off in the middle of the sentence and Thatcher looked up in surprise.

"Find anything?"

Ela did not answer. Instead she just pulled a light brown envelope out of the drawer and put it on the table. Thatcher took a quick look at the document before exchanging a surprised look with the Pole.

Why was the FBI crest on an envelope in the desk of a Brazilian paramilitary?

Ela looked down and pulled out more envelopes, all marked with the same symbol, the proud eagle of the United States' Federal Bureau of Investigation. Each one of them had a bright, red stamp on it, reading: "Top Secret."

"What the hell?" Thatcher mumbled and picked up one of the documents. He looked briefly up at Ela. Then he tore the paper open from top to bottom and fished out the notes it contained. Afterwards he remained silent for a while.

"And?" Ela asked, "What does it say?"

"It´s the file of a person," Thatcher said, "Her first name´s Anna, last name unknown. She's Russian, apparently, but it says here that she has no citizenship."

Thatcher showed Ela the file and the photo of a young woman with striking facial features.

"It also says here as a note that she often wears a rabbit mask. What the..."

"Is she someone important?"

"No. No soldier, no politician, no manager, no nothing. At least it doesn't say anything here."

Ela grabbed another file and quickly pulled out the notes.

"Sally Smithson," she read, "From England. Eye color... Orange?"

She looked confused at the image of a woman with an ugly scar across her face. Then she turned her eyes to Thatcher, who had opened another file.

"Meg Thomas. American." The British man raised his head. "Do you know any of these people?"

Ela shook her head and opened a fourth file.

"Max Thompson," she read, "American as we... What the fuck is that?"

Struck with disgust, she turned the paper around and showed Thatcher the image of a monster staring into the camera with cold eyes.

* * *

Blitz let the hostage slide from his shoulder and reached for his pistol. He was in the dark. The fog had surrounded him, but now it felt like it had disappeared again. However, Blitz could not know for sure, as he was completely blind, almost deaf, nearly defenceless without his shield and tormented by an excruciating headache along with a severe tinnitus. There was only one thing he knew: He was not in the favelas anymore.

Blitz felt damp grass under his hands and as he moved to the left, his shoulder hit something that seemed like the bark a tree. But he could only touch his surroundings, not see them. Even when he turned on the flashlight under his pistol. The gas must have damaged his eyes or...

Or was he dead?

No, it could not be. He still had had the hostage on his shoulder, he was still in his combat gear, and this certainly was not the afterlife. What the hell was going on? Tortured by the whizzing in his ears, he pressed one hand against his head.

"CAPITAO!"

No one answered. But just as Blitz lowered his weapon, he heard dodgy footsteps approaching and the cracking of a breaking twig. Immediately he raised his gun back up.

"Who´s there?"

"Me, of course" a cawing voice clucked, and someone seemed to be climbing a tree. There was the rustling of leaves. As Blitz tried to follow the sounds with his weapon, he almost stumbled over the unconscious hostage lying next to him in the grass.

"So, you made it happen!", the squeaky voice suddenly croaked right above him: "You nosey rascals!"

"Who are you?" Blitz shouted, "Why can´t I see anything?"

"Because you're not welcome here," the voice replied, and a cackling laugh sounded: "You have to leave."

"Damn..." Blitz cursed, "What do you mean I have to leave? Where am I?"

"You´re in the fog of course," the voice cawed, "Silly you. Where else would you be? Here, catch."

Blitz almost triggered a shot when suddenly the hostage's weight was pushed on his shoulder and threw him out of balance. Blitz drove around looking for the person, who had loaded the man on him, but it was to no use. He was still completely blind and could not see a single thing, while the buzzing in his ears had risen to an unbearable intensity.

"Go now", the mysterious voice cackled. For a moment he heard a scratching sound. Then someone grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in a certain direction.

"This is the way out," the voice said, "When you´re back, go to Benedict Baker from the FBI and tell the honourable gentleman, that he's got a biiiiiig problem, oh yes!"

"What?"

"And tell him greetings from Lisa."

Suddenly the grip on his arm came loose and Blitz stumbled backwards. He hit the ground hard, dropping the hostage a second time, but when he opened his eyes, he spotted a concrete ceiling right above him.

"Blitz!" someone shouted and immediately Capitao appeared over him: "Blitz, are you alright?"

"Who was that?" Blitz asked in panic, but Capitao did not seem to understand.

"What are you talking about?"

The German sat up and looked at the chamber from which he had just freed a hostage. Jake Park was lying right next to him. The black gas, on the other hand, had completely evaporated and disappeared.

"What the..."

"Blitz, what happened?" Capitao asked, kneeling beside him. The German shook his head to clear his thoughts, but it did not help. He could not find any meaning in the events. Uncertain about everything, he looked at Capitao.

"I´ve no idea." Blitz answered, pulling his helmet from his head. "Do you know a Benedict Baker?"

* * *

Meg leaned forward and floated away in Chris' embrace. She reached for his strong upper body, felt his deep breaths and sensed the heart beat under his chest. With every kiss it pulsed faster and expressed its unrestrained desire for her. The tall athlete followed his impulses impetuously. Almost painfully, he pushed Meg against the table, which was shaking dangerously, but she did not care. It was too long ago that she had kissed somebody, that she had been desired.

A scream echoed through the night.

"Chris," Meg whispered in horror and tried to break away from him. But apparently, he had not noticed and kept approaching her.

"Chris," she called out and pushed him away: "Stop it."

"What's the matter?" he asked, letting go of her, but right at the same moment he flinched in shock as a loud bang tore through the air. Meg looked around anxiously. Something was wrong, screams broke through the darkness and the guests were fleeing from the dance floor. The next moment Meg discovered a masked figure standing on one of the cars holding a pistol in his hands. The man had pointed the gun at the sky. He must have been to one, who had fired the shot.

"Hey, who is..." Chris started, but was interrupted by a heavy blow at the back of his head. With a short squeal, Meg drove around and immediately spotted a masked man, pointing an assault rifle directly at her face. He was clad in a green jacket and had pulled its hood over his head.

"Move," he shouted and grabbed Meg by the shoulder. Pushing her towards the campfire, he bent down, pulled Chris to his feet and dragged him along, his assault rifle always pointed at Meg. With her hands raised above her head, she stumbled over the dry grass, looked around and tried to grasp the situation. All around her she discovered armed men, herding the party guests around the campfire and keeping their faces hidden behind white masks. Some of them carried assault rifles, some held shotguns in their hands and none of them hesitated to use violent force, if someone did not immediately follow their orders.

Another shot banged through the air and triggered a series of screams, but no one had been hurt. Instead, the sound system suddenly fell silent, now sporting a smoking hole right through its middle. A surreal silence took hold of the night. Only the crackling of the fire, the roaring orders of the armed men and the whimpering of their victims could be heard.

Who were those men?

As Meg slowed down a little, the masked thug behind her slammed the stock of his rifle against her head. The pain deprived her of her sight for a moment and with a scream she fell to the ground. Immediately someone grabbed her by the collar and dragged her a few feet further before finally pushing her down again. Meg could feel the heat of the nearby fire on her face, together with a warm liquid running from her forehead.

Someone reached under her arms and gently lifted her up. When Meg opened her eyes, she recognized Ellie staring right back at her, eyes filled with tears of fear. Shortly afterwards Chris landed next to her in the dirt. Meg tried to get up on her feet, but quickly changed her mind as she suddenly looked into the barrel of a shotgun.

"Stay down," one of the hooded men growled and Meg hurried to follow his command. Her limbs trembled with panic and she was barely able to grasp a clear thought. Shaken by adrenaline she looked to the left and saw two of the men exchanging a few words. One pointed to the farm, whereupon the other signalled three of his comrades to follow him and walked toward the house. At the top of the stairs, he raised his right food and kicked the door open.

Meanwhile, the one who had apparently given the order, approached the intimidated party guests and pulled out his pistol. Twice he shot into the air, some of the hostages screamed in horror, then silence returned. Slowly the man reached up and pulled the white mask from his head. A bald skull appeared. His face was dominated by an ugly scar, cold eyes and sharp contours. A dark beard framed his mouth and as soon as he was sure he had the complete attention of his victims, he began to speak. His voice thundered through the air.

"Is there a person named Anna here?"

No one answered. Some of the guests took a quick look around, but no one came forward. Meanwhile Meg tried to understand the situation and wondered if the man was looking for her Anna.

"No?" he said, "Max Thompson?"

Meg looked up at the apparent leader, but immediately turned away again. She did not want to give the impression, that she knew who the persons he was talking about. These men were up to no good and Meg would never sell out her new family.

"Sally Smithson?"

The crackling of the campfire seemed deafening. Nobody knew who the man was talking about, nobody knew the people mentioned and nobody wanted to imagine what would happen if he did not reach his goal.

"Meg Thomas?"

Meg felt like electricity was shooting through her body. The man had just said her name. He was looking for her. She was one of the reasons he was here, and she had absolutely no idea why.

Anxiously, Meg exchanged a look with Ellie and the Latina nodded silently. She would not betray her. Meanwhile, two of the masked men moved around the crowd, picked out girls and compared them with pictures. With brutal force they pulled them to their feet, stared at them and threw them back down, when they realized, that they had the wrong person.

"Alright," the leader shouted, "Alright, no problem. You want to play the heroes, please, be my guests."

He made a casual gesture towards a random girl and immediately two of his men jumped forward, grabbed her by the arms and dragged her out of the crowd. In front of the leader they forced her on her knees, her head facing the campfire, so that everyone could see the sheer fear in her eyes.

"I gave you four names", the leader shouted, and a knife appeared in his hand: "I want these four people to step forward! I know you´re here, so no games. Fuck with me and you pay the price."

He reached down and grabbed the girl by the hair. She screamed as he tore her head back and put the blade to her throat. A drop of blood ran down her neck as the cold steel cut into her skin. The ruthless man paused, and his gaze shot into the crowd, right past Meg.

"Let me tell you how this works," he shouted, "Classic counting, just like in your movies. You don´t want me to reach number three!"

Again, he looked into the crowd.

"ONE!"

Meg turned away in despair. She looked toward the house, where she spotted the intruders returning. Apparently, their search was unsuccessful. Sally must have heard the noise and slipped away unnoticed. Hopefully she was on her way to get help.

"TWO!"

But even if she was using her blink, how was she supposed to get here in time? A few seconds longer and this psychopath would have slit the throat of an innocent girl, looking for Meg and her friends. What did he want with her anyway?

"THREE!"

"Stop!"

Meg shot to her feet. The ruthless man, who had already strained his muscles, paused again and turned his gaze toward her. A moment later, Meg was grabbed by the neck and dragged forward. When she reached the leader, one of the soldiers rammed his fist into her stomach and forced her to her knees. Then he grabbed her by the chin, tore her head up and compared her face to a photo. Finally, he gave his boss a confirming nod.

"Meg Thomas, I suppose?" the man said and pushed the other girl back into the crowd. Crying, she sought shelter among her friends.

"What do you want?" Meg asked more aggressively than she felt.

"What do I want?" The man laughed briefly before grabbing her by one of her raid braids: "You are what I want. But we're not done yet, Meg. Where are the others?"

"What others?"

"Don't fuck with me," the man yelled and yanked her up by her hair. Meg denied him the satisfaction of a cry. "Where are they?"

"They´re not here," Meg replied, her voice filled with hate. The man just looked at her in brief awe. He probably had not expected her to be this stubborn. Just as he was about to reply, a strange sound cracked behind the leader. A few girls screamed, somebody began to gargle and when the leader turned around, Meg could see past him and spotted one of the terrorists.

He was still standing upright, but a dark stain had was spreading out on his jacket as more and more blood seeped into the fabric. His head bobbed slightly back and forth under the weight of a hatchet sticking out of his face. Slowly he stumbled a few meters, fell down and did not move anymore.

Then it all happened terribly fast. Two other soldiers were hit by hatchets, one in the face, the other in the chest. Shots came loose from their rifles and were so loud that they almost covered the screeching of the chainsaw approaching through the cornfield. A few seconds later Max appeared between the plants, sprinted past the crowd and buried his chainsaw in one of the hostage-takers. Blood spattered around, an arm flew away, and screams cut through the night.

One of the masked men aimed his weapon at the chainsaw wielding monster. Before he could pull the trigger, a heavy axe crashed into his back and gurgling he was thrown to the ground. From the darkness behind him the Huntress appeared. She raised her right foot and pushed against the dead man´s torso, to pull out her weapon. Then she looked around.

A few of the hostages had already run away, while others were still cowering on the ground next to the campfire. All of them were screaming, crying and fearing for their lives.

A shot crashed next to Meg. She could hear Max scream in pain, but not a second later he drove around and grabbed the shooter by the neck. Completely unimpressed by the bullet, he lifted the man from his feet and held him between himself and another terrorist.

Two more shots banged through the air and drove into the abdomen of the shield-abused fighter. Every time the bullets ripped through his body, Max was showered in blood, but he did not care. Growling, he threw the dead man aside and went for the final shooter with his chainsaw. The man panicked, stumbled and tried to crawl away. He made it barely a few metres.

Meanwhile Anna had killed another soldier and was now picking up one of her throwing hatchets. The party guests crouching near the campfire tried to remain as far away from her as possible, probably fearing her more than the terrorists.

The leader himself had watched in bewilderment for a few seconds and only when Meg rammed her foot between his leg, did he break loose from his petrification. Desperately Meg tried to get away from him, but the man did not give in and grabbed her by the neck. He pulled her close to himself and flicked his knife toward her throat. A flash of adrenaline shot through Meg´s veins.

Anna stood a few metres away, a hatchet raised high above her head and her eyes staring directly at the leader. But she had no clear shot. Meg was in the way. Meanwhile Max rose from a bloody pulp on the ground below him and awkwardly wiped the blood from his face.

There were corpses everywhere, the attackers had been slaughtered to the last man within seconds. Most of the hostages had already escaped and only a few were still cowering on the ground. There was no one holding them back anymore, but even now they did not dare to run away. Meg spotted Ellie among some of her friends.

"Put it down," the leader yelled, and his knife pierced into Meg's throat. Warm blood flowed down her neck. She suffered mortal fear, but Anna did not give in. Growling, she kept her hatchet above her head and was ready to throw it at any moment.

"I said put it down," the man yelled again, not noticing the gentle gust of wind coming from behind him. Meg could make out an orange glow in the corner of her eye.

"I'm warning you," the leader yelled: "I´ll slit her..."

His threat was interrupted, as cold hands had reached for his arm and neck. With superhuman strength, one pressed shut and smothered his breath, while the other slowly pulled the blade away from Meg's throat. A moment later, the athlete managed to free herself and stumbled away, while Sally pulled the armed man around.

Both of her hands were clenched around the leader´s neck. Her feet floated half a meter above the ground and an orange aura enveloped her silhouette. The bald man tried to take a gasping breath. Gurgling, he tore at her hands before after half a minute, his eyes rolled upwards, and his body slackened.

Without a second glance, Sally threw him to the ground. Then she slowly sank down herself until her bare feet touched the dusty ground. Worried, she looked around.

"Meg, are you alright?"

She hurried over and supported her red-haired friend, who had a hard time remaining on her feet. Suddenly the panic from the last quarter of an hour sucked every strength out of her legs, but physically she was okay. Meg nodded weakly and then looked over to Max, who was rubbing his shoulder. Dark blood ran from an ugly wound and dripped down into the grass, right next to the lifeless body of one of the terrorists. Max had been hit by a bullet, but it was nothing more than a flesh wound. He would be okay.

"Sa... Sally?" Meg stammered, "Who were those guys?"

"I don't know, Meg," Sally replied worriedly, "but I think we got them all."

She let her gaze wander over the remains of the massacre. The former dance floor resembled a battlefield, blood dripped from the sound system and the tent had caught fire. Carefully the Nurse took her hand off Meg's shoulder and when she saw that the girl could stand by herself, she floated over to Max and looked at his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Meg was completely lost. The whole thing seemed like one of those nightmares that had plagued her for so long, but this time there was no waking up. Only tomorrow.

It was just too surreal, and Meg was barely able to grasp the situation. At some distance she discovered Anna wiping the blood off her axe and then turning to one of the hostages. The Huntress stretched out her hand to Ellie, but the terrified girl crawled away from her. "No afraid," Anna said, but it did not help. Ellie was in shock and crawled further and further back until the flames stopped her.

As soon as she regained some control over her limbs, Meg went over to her and touched Anna's arm. With a nod she signalled to the Huntress that she would take care of Ellie herself and the tall woman turned around. Silently, she began to pick up her throwing hatchets while Meg approached Ellie.

"It´s over," Meg said and reached out to her, "They're dead. We're safe."

Ellie grabbed Meg's hand, got pulled on her feet and stumbled a few steps backwards. Apparently, she mistrusted Meg as well.

"Who was that?" she asked in a breaking voice and tears ran down her eyes. "What... What happened?"

"I don't know," Meg replied. "But listen to me, Ellie." She grabbed the Latina by the shoulder. "It's over. Whatever they wanted, they didn't get it. We're safe, you hear me?"

Ellie looked at Meg, but her gaze seemed to go into emptiness. Meg knew that look all too well. It was that of a person, who had just lived through mortal dread and was not yet sure whether she had really survived. Ellie would never forget this experience.

"Wha... Why is your mother floating?" she whispered as her eyes caught a glimpse of the Nurse. Meg sighed and decided that there was no point in lying anymore.

"She's not my mother," she murmured and tried to identify any injuries on Ellies body. Luckily, there were none.

"What?" stammered the Latina, not really processing what she had heard. Her gaze wandered across the massacre and finally stopped at the Huntress, who was just standing around, apparently not knowing what to do next.

"That's Anna," Meg muttered, "You don't have to be afraid of her. And don´t be afraid of Max either."

"What's going on?" Ellie asked Meg again with a trembling voice, before looking past her, "Meg... the farm..."

Meg turned around and when her eyes fell on the house, her heart stopped for a moment. Orange flames flickered up the north wall.

They had jumped over from the burning tent and found plenty of food in the dry wooden construction. Rapidly the fire spread upwards and a few seconds later it had already reached the roof. Meg could feel the heat in her face.

Sally had paused her treatment of Max´ wound as well and just looked at the burning building in bewilderment. Like a fiery beacon, the flames bathed the surrounding fields in warm light and it was not long until the first beams collapsed under the heat.

* * *

As soon as the mobile phone in Dwight´s pocket began buzzing, he rose to his feet and went over into the kitchen. Both he and his parents knew exactly who was calling, so no one resented him for leaving the dining table early. With butterflies in his stomach, Dwight stood against the stove and pressed the green button on his phone.

"Hi, Clau..."

"Dwight!"

Claudette´s voice was nothing more than a whisper, but there was haste in it, despair, even panic. Dwight immediately felt as if an icy hand had reached for his guts.

"Claudette, are you al..."

"Dwight, listen to me," the Canadian shouted through the connection, supressing a sob: "Something´s wrong. I... I don't know what's going on."

"Claudette, calm down," Dwight said, but his girlfriend did the exact opposite. Heavy footsteps stomped through the background, followed by the sound of someone falling down and an anxious squeak from Claudette.

"Dwight, I'm scared," she sobbed, "I think he's... he's here."

Dwight´s thoughts were clouded in worries and desperately he tried to keep a clear mind.

"Who´s there?"

"The Entity!"

Dwight froze. That could not be. The Entity was gone, it was destroyed. What the hell was going on?

"Claudette, where are you?"

"In my apartment," she whispered, "Under… under the bed."

"Stay there, I'll... I'll call the police."

"Dwight, I think he's got Chloe."

"What?"

"Dwight, please..."

Claudette broke off in the middle of the sentence and a loud roar echoed through the connection. It sounded more like an animal than a human and was barely drowned out by Claudette´s terrified scream. Immediately afterwards Dwight heard another dull bang, someone had knocked over some heavy furniture. Then it rattled briefly when the Canadian´s phone fell to the ground. Claudette screamed for help. Something smothered her cries. Finally, the connection broke off and all that remained, was a soft beep.

"Well, how is she?" Dwight's father, who had not heard the conversation, asked from the living room.


End file.
